


Variations

by CrystalInstinct



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Police, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Alternate Universe- Park Rangers, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Background Carolina/Kimball, Chorus Era, Fake Character Death, M/M, Minor Dexter Grif/Dick Simmons, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-12 10:30:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11160048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrystalInstinct/pseuds/CrystalInstinct
Summary: Time is made of circles. As much as he couldn’t comprehend Caboose back then he thinks he understands now. The floor underneath him is dark wood and stained with the salty residue of his pain. Time is made of circles. Endless loops, endless turning and twisting. Of fucking course it’s a circle.Tucker's mission to investigate the secret of a newly rediscovered alien temple at the heart of a forgotten jungle leaves him stuck in an endless amount of universes and as he struggles to find his way out of the loops he starts forget the real world.





	1. Prologue

“Do you remember that time back at the crash site?”

Tucker looks over at Wash as they stand by the temple. Wash’s posture’s rigid and broadcasts his worry. Even with their helmets on Tucker can see his mind racing. The temple looms ahead them concealing the future from their sights. Its stony walls radiated mystery and the kind of magic that makes Tucker’s skin crawl. 

He remembers enough from his embassy days to know this temple is not good news. And yet, here he stands on this cold morning expected to walk inside and reveal all its secrets in an attempt to map all the temples on Chorus. This one is unmarked in all the records that have survived the war, and Tucker can sense there is reason for it. His body seems to fight against getting nearer to this place. Run, it seems to scream to him. But he doesn’t. He has a duty.

“What time?” He asks Wash in an attempt to distract himself from the weight of his responsibility of the resident alien expert. In times like these he wishes he never picked up his sword all those years ago. 

“That time when you pulled me out of that burning ship.” Wash’s voice is serious as he looks at him. Tucker sees himself reflected in his visor, the aqua blending in with the vibrant greens of the vegetation behind him. “That time when you put your life at risk to get me out of there? The time you moved box after flaming box until you could drag me out to safety.”

“Yeah.” His voice is breathless as he answers. The nervous energy of the prospect of dying today rumbles in his stomach. “Yeah I do.”

“You know I’ll do the same. At the first sight of trouble I won’t rest until you’re out of that thing.”

Tucker wants to laugh to ease the mood but he can’t. He knows Wash and he hears in his voice that this is a promise he intends to keep. Wash is going to walk to hell and back to get him to safety if he needs it. This only makes him more nervous. Wash had already walked that walk and hadn’t returned the same man he was before. He can’t do that to him, he won’t.

“I know.” He answers instead with practiced ease. He sees that Wash sees right through him, but they both pretend everything’s fine. That all their time wasn’t ending today. That they aren’t thinking about all that time they lost to petty fights and stolen glances. Tuckers hand finds its way to Wash’s, both of them gripping tight. Wash is drawing those small circles on Tucker’s palm as he usually does late in the night when they can’t sleep. 

He feels sick. He knows this is something he needs to do but these temples rarely worked as he assumed. When you play with alien magic you can’t predict what will happen. He might not make it back or he might come back in shards. He might come back, but Wash might not. The thought of something happening to Wash cuts him open like a knife.

“If it’s too dangerous-“

“I will come for you no matter what.” 

Tucker glances back at the structure in the middle of the jungle where he might die today. It’s a weird thought, he thinks as he watches the small crew they traveled with unload scientific equipment from the vehicles and carry them inside under the supervision of Dr. Grey. He’s beyond happy to have her here as her hands had brought him back from the dead before. She looks small against the backdrop, her white armor standing out in the lush green landscape of the deep jungle. She can work miracles. Could she do enough for him this time?

“I hate this.” Wash’s voice makes him turn his attention back to him. The bravado in his posture has deflated and Tucker takes a step forward wrapping his hands around him. The armor makes it awkward but the sentiment is there. Wash’s gripping him like he’s a lifeboat in a stormy sea. Tucker wishes he could just hold on forever. Wash is safety and he’s home. 

“I know.” 

“I wish there was another way.” 

“Me too.” He sighs burrowing his head further into the crook of Wash’s neck. He wants to stay here with Wash and not enter that beam of light but he knows he has to. Chorus and its inhabitants need him to do this. That doesn’t make him any less scared. The prospect of dying never got easier. This is especially true with his new found companionship with Wash. He doesn't want to put labels on it, or think too deeply into it but now, as he stares into the face of death all he can think about is those stolen kisses behind the training room, all those sleepless nights spent in his arms. His heart aches with the thought of all the time they had lost.

He holds Wash’s hand as they walk into the temple. Wash’s hand anchors him to this place, to the nearing roar of the energy beam that pulsates in the middle of the open space of the temple. His blood is rushing in his ears. Do or Die. His hand feels cold and empty and his soul aches as he lets go of Wash’s hand and steps forward. His steps echo in the space, the cold stone walls that seemed so spacious only a few minutes ago now seem to close in on him. The roar of the energy that pulses through the center of the pedestal he climbs deafens him. His body wants to run as far away as possible from this place. Every cell in his body protest every step he takes towards the beam. 

He looks back at the group of people who are here to back him up. Wash stands in the middle his posture painfully rigid as he looks only at him. His body wants to run back down, away from this energy that feels unnatural and wrong but he finds himself frozen. There is no turning back. He has to do this. Now or never.

“How bad can it be?”

Those words barely have the time to escape his mouth before he takes the step back and falls into the beam. The roar mutes everything in this world and he only barely sees Wash rush forwards before the white light engulfs him and suffocates him until he is no more and nowhere. He feels like his body is swirling in a pool of water yet all he can see is the blinding light. The world is no more, he is no more. His thoughts mix and tangle together as the fear inside of him grows. 

This is it. This is how it ends.


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prologue is so short and only a tease, so here, have the first real chapter of this fic! This fic will be updated weekly on Thursdays, but there might be some delays some weeks as work can get pretty hectic on Thursdays.

_”How bad can it be?”_

The world is white and spinning and that voice echoes in Tuckers head. Who’s saying that? How bad was what? Tucker can hear the voice-no it is his voice- echo in his head. When had he said that? And most importantly why is the world spinning?

As hard as he tries to remember the thread of memory keeps evading his grasp. He feels sluggish, like he’s underwater and the pressure keeps building inside of him. He can’t place himself and his head rings with white noise drowning out everything else. 

_“You’re having a panic attack Tucker.”_

Wash. What had he said that night when he had burst into Tucker’s room following the screams that bounced off the walls like the echo of that voice-his voice- bounced inside his skull. Focus Tucker. What had Wash told him. 

_“Breathe. Tucker look at me and breathe.”_ His lungs feel like they are trapped under the weight of the world. The ringing inside his head feels like it’s going to crack his skull open and he can feel his breakfast jumble inside his stomach-no wait it is past lunchtime-

“-cker! Captain Tuck-“

_“How bad can it be?”_ Stop- why had he said that-no when had he said that? This is important he can feel it in his bones. Focus and just remember-

“Get down! Tucker for the love of god get down!

He should lie down. Tucker tries to control his legs but the white noise blinds him and he can’t find his legs-

All the air escapes his lungs with force as he feels himself being yanked down. His armor digs into his shoulders as he struggles to fill his lungs gulping like a fish out of water. He reaches up to touch his face only to collide with cold metal-his helmet- and the only thing he manages to think about in the middle of the screeching white noise is to get it off-

“What’s wrong with him?” 

“I don’t know Jensen! Captain Tucker stop! We’re under fire!”

Who are they? Where are they? And why do they sound like they are underwater? Maybe it’s him who is underwater -how bad can it be- he wants to scream, do anything to make the noise stop-

And just like that it does. For one split second the world is quiet and empty and he can breathe again and then reality comes crashing down on him hard. 

An explosion shakes the ground and rubble rains down on him. He rolls over to press his back against a low barrier looking around him to orient himself in whatever this fresh hell is. Muscle memory pulls him to safety while he tries his hardest to understand where, and when, he is.

He’s in a battle that much is sure. Buildings are collapsing around him, the sound of heavy weaponry echoes amid screams and cries. The world is bright and saturated, like somebody turned up the settings. He feels disorientated, trying to remember if everything had always been this crisp and saturated. His armor is so bright he feels like a target among all the rubble.

He tries to remember where he is and what he’s doing. His mind is filled with the roar of the white light and the echo of his voice but he finds no memories about this place or this fight. He feels dread pooling in his stomach as Dr. Greys warning about memory loss being a bad sign echoes in tandem with his own voice. 

To his right, he sees Andersmith crouching by him, with Jensen behind him. Even with their helmets on he can sense their worry. Lieutenants mean Chorus. He must be on Chorus, but that doesn’t narrow the timeline much further. 

“Captain Tucker! Are you alright?” Andersmith asks him over the radio his voice wavering with uncertainty. 

“I need you guys to not ask any questions, but where the fuck are we?” He asks ducking further into cover as a hail of bullets fly over their heads. 

“We’re at the center of Promeca sir!” Andersmith says with apparent relief in his voice. As if he can sense the next question Tucker’s going to ask he continues “We were trying to secure the hospital here but our efforts were thwarted when the mercs showed up!”

Fuck. Felix and Locus are here? Those assholes are never good news and Tucker’s stomach contracts painfully. He can’t stop focusing on the aching of his scar, the one that had nearly killed him. The thought of Felix being here, around some corner with his smug smile and the gleam of his blade made him break out in sweat. No matter how hard he trained, the thought of blades still made him sick. 

“What’s the plan?” Tucker asks checking his rifle in his hands finding it fully loaded and in good shape. Jensen fires at a merc solider killing him as Andersmith points over at the area where the fire is the heaviest.

“Agent Washington ordered an evac a few minutes ago and the rendezvous is a mile that way. There’s some kind of jammer here, we can’t get a message to the airship! We were heading out when you just stopped and seemed to just-“

“Freak the fuck out? Yeah I remember.” Tucker answers and peeks at the direction Andersmith had pointed. The area is taking heavy fire but luckily, they are seemingly the only ones this far behind. If Wash had ordered the evac only a few minutes ago they still have the chance to make it in time. 

“Come on guys we gotta hurry!”

“Yes sir!”

Tucker knows that if he slows down or looks down he’s done. Looking down means death. The only thing he remembers from basic and then later from Wash’s crash site boot camp is the lecture on “don’t look, keep moving”. Not that he’s stopping anyways, as the bullets hit and shatter windows around him as he guides the two lieutenants across the road leading them towards the airship. 

“Watch out Tucker!” Jensen’s words manage to register in his brain just a second too late as he’s hit by the blast wave of a rogue grenade. His armor absorbs most of the impact but he’s still thrown down. Groaning he tries to stand up only to yelp in pain. Glancing down he sees a gash on his leg just above the protective armor. 

“Oh, come on!” Wrapping his hand around his rifle he shuffles with effort towards cover. He can’t feel the pain but he knows that this will hurt tomorrow. Jensen rushes towards him with her biofoam container already in hand. 

“You know how to use that right?” Tucker grits down as he angles his leg so she has the best angle to cover the entire wound in one swift spray. To this day he remembers that time he had gotten his wounds sprayed by an inexperienced solider, who instead of the one swift spray had repeatedly sprayed his wound in an attempt to cover it all. That’s not something he wants to experience again; the regular hellfire burn is enough pain. 

“Of course, Captain Tucker!” She answers, her voice confident but her trembling hands betray her. Wanting to get the hell out of here Tucker grasps the biofoam and opens the container. 

“You want to spray it once and cover everything with that one spray. That’s not always possible but-“ His voice cracks as Jensen starts the spray. It hurts like hell. Breathe, he tells himself as the burn feels like it’s melting his bones. 

“I’m so sorry Captain Tucker!” Jensen’s hands shake as she holds the biofoam with both hands looking at his leg. Poor kid, Tucker thinks, for a second remembering that these are just kids stuck in a lose-lose situation. 

“You did good Jensen.” He says testing the foam with his hand already feeling the numbness spreading around his leg. She did good, he thinks as he pats the foam already hardening around his wound. This will do. “Now you’ll do better next time.”

Jensen looks unsure but Tucker forces himself on his legs again and tests how well he can move. The range is bad but if he watches his step he can keep up a jog for a short distance. Andersmith is firing at something unknown behind their cover and for a brief moment Tucker can understand why people in these situations just give up. He feels exhausted. “Just keep moving” doesn’t mean shit now, and he feels like he’s twenty years older than he is. 

“Come on Jensen, let’s go. I can already hear Wash’s lecture.”

Jensen hurries up and follows closely by his side as they meet up with Andersmith. They are getting tired, Tucker realizes as he watches Andersmith reload with shaky hands. Time to be a leader Tucker. He can almost see the smile on Wash’s face as he had said that to him the first time. 

“Come on guys, we’re almost there!” He says trying his best to match the confidence Wash had had in him but he feels like an impostor. Andersmith straightens up and Tucker copies his posture as they start to make their way towards the airship. 

There’s still a long way to go and with Tucker slowing them down it is going to take a miracle to get to the ship in time. Just keep moving, he tells himself. And just keep thinking that means anything at all. 

A bead of sweat runs down his face as they march through the wide-open street that once had probably been a sight to see. Now it is scorched and destroyed and the street is filled with corpses and rubble. The stuff of nightmares, Tucker thinks with a shiver as he moves past fallen solider after another. He looks for colors, for blue, for red. How has it gone south this quickly? 

_How bad can it be?_

Tucker shakes his head to get rid of that echo, he needs to focus if he is going to get these kids to the ship in time. He refuses to look at Jensen even if he sees how she keeps looking at him, as if waiting for him to keel over any moment. He only has to manage to get them a few hundred yards and then across a few alleyways and-

“Holy shit!”

Andersmith flails away from the solider that had grasped his ankle as he had walked by. He is badly wounded, that much Tucker can tell even from this distance. The poor kid isn’t going to make it. And they aren’t either if they stop now. 

“We can’t stop.” Tucker says, guilt dripping off his voice like a waterfall. Jensen turns around to look at him and he can see the judgement on her face.

“We can’t just leave him. I’m not leaving him here to die alone and in pain.”

Tucker can feel his fake bravado melting under her gaze. He knows that she knows that there is no hope for him, but she is holding on to that last piece of humanity. She won’t budge and he finds himself agreeing. Jensen drops down to help the solider as Tucker and Andersmith stand guard around her. This is too open, Tucker thinks dread filling him as he watches the way they came from. Wash would hate this. 

He would also stop, Tucker thinks as he guns down a stray merc rushing at them. Wash wouldn’t leave a man behind, not since he got left behind himself. It had taken all his willpower not to break something when Wash finally had opened up to him. He had felt so powerless then, sitting by Wash in that regulation cot late at night. 

“I’m out of biofoam!” Jensen squeaks on the radio breaking his thoughts. Tucker rushes back and gives her his with an unspoken glance. She nods and turns back to the solider as Tucker shoots down yet another merc that’s rushing down the alley. He glances back at Jensen only to see the soldiers hand drop from hers, bouncing off the ground like it never held any life in it.

“We gotta keep moving Jensen!” Andersmith yells grabbing her hand. “There’s too many of them!”

“Where are these assholes even coming from?!” Tucker grunts as he kicks a merc off a small pile of rubble into Andersmith’s bullet hail. His leg protests but he keeps moving. Just get to Wash, he thinks, the sweat running down his neck. He knows that the mercs got reinforcements but this is excessive, it is more like a videogame than-

“Look out!” Jensen cries as yet another grenade flies at them. Tucker rolls to the side in a hurry to avoid the blast but he can feel his leg buckling underneath him. Wash is going to kill him if Grey doesn’t get to him before that. 

Tucker tries to hide his discomfort as much as possible, he doesn’t want to be the one responsible for them missing the airship. Yet every step he takes he feels the tear in his flesh and no amount of biofoam is going keep this from etching into his brain. This is a pain he will remember. Getting stabbed had hurt, but he had passed out before it got really bad. This? This is worse, he thinks gritting his teeth together. He knows every step makes the pain worse, the wound worse and yet he knows he has to take every single one of those steps. 

He has to admit that they are making headway. Even with the short stop they have made good progress and he can’t wait to get back. This whole fight seems too perfect, too scripted and that echo just-

_“How bad could it be?”_

“I’ll show you bad.” He mutters only to realize he has said that aloud by the quizzical looks he receives from his squad. “Just thinking out loud.”

Neither of them look convinced but they drop the matter. He doesn’t blame them for thinking he’s behaving weirdly. He feels it himself. Yet there’s something so profoundly wrong with this situation. He cannot put his finger on what it is and that makes him extremely uncomfortable. First the memory loss, now the persistent voices that echo in his head.

_“Voices in your head are never a good sign.”_ Wash had said to him one night on the roof when they had stumbled up there to get some fresh air after a late-night training session. Wash liked the fresh air and Tucker has stored that information for later as well as the image of Wash’s hair illuminated in the sunset, enhancing the golden tones in his hair. 

He had talked about the program that night, Tucker remembers as he makes his way through yet another collapsed doorway cutting through to the alley behind. Wash rarely talked about the program, well he rarely talks about his past in general. That night he had talked like he couldn’t stop, and he had listened knowing fully well the weight of the things Wash shared and how difficult sharing those memories must have been. 

It was only later, when he was back in his cot trying to catch at least some sleep before the morning drills as he realized that Wash had confined in him. Not Carolina, not Grey, him. And after that realization he didn’t feel tired anymore. 

As he rounds the corner he glances backwards to make sure Jensen and Andersmith get through the building he slams into something- no someone. 

“Tucker! Where have you been?” 

Wash’s strong arms hold him up as he wobbles at the sudden stop. Relief floods him, Wash is here and he knows what to do and where to go. He wraps his hand around Wash’s wrist holding him close for a moment. The battlefield is no place for tenderness and he knows that, but he cannot help himself. Wash is here and he’s so close. 

He can almost see the way Wash’s’ face scrunches with worry as he looks at him. Wash’s visor reveals nothing but if you’re spending that much time with someone in armor you learn to read them like an open book. 

“Nothing special, just getting shot at and saving the day.” Tucker answers but doesn’t get enough jokiness in his voice. Wash grips him harder, looking at Andersmith and Jensen for confirmation. 

“You got SHOT?” Tucker feels safe knowing Wash has his back but the pain is making it hard for him to focus. The sooner he gets on that ship and gets the weight of his legs, the better.

“Chill! Jensen fixed me up and it’s not a big deal. You can harp on me later but we’ve got a ship to catch!”

Wash looks like he wants to argue but a well-timed blast that shatters the nearby building complex shuts him up. Tucker knows that he has a stern talking to look forward to when they get back to Armonia. Wash glances around him before gesturing to them to follow him. 

“Is everybody okay? Caboose?”

“They’re on the ship already, you’re the last ones to make it.”

Relief floods him before he grimaces at the thought of all the kids who didn’t make it. He feels a tinge of guilt for looking after his own first, that his first thought is of Wash and Caboose. At least they’re okay. 

Tucker’s glad to follow Wash’s lead, not that he’d say that aloud especially not to Wash. No matter how well Wash trained him or how well he did when he was thrust in the leading roll he misses the security Wash brings to the situation at hand. Even now as they rush through yet another rubble filled alleyway he feels safe with Wash leading the way.

There is just something about Wash that pulls him in closer. No matter if it is the middle of the night rushing to his side to calm him after his nightmares or flicking a reheated pea at his face during lunch, he always finds himself by his side. And even here, in battle, he knows he’s safe with Wash. Wash knows what to do. 

Focus Tucker, you’re in a firefight not daydreaming back at base, he scolds himself with a shake of his head as they round a corner only to find their route blocked by a collapsed building. 

“Fuck!” His rifle moves automatically to scan the surroundings as Wash looks around them. Jensen sticks close to him, her hands grasping her weapon with an iron grip. Tucker remembers the time she had dropped it during training and how he had watched Wash go on a rant about weapon safety. He doesn’t remember the words, only the way the sweat from the drills spotted Wash’s forehead in the harsh light of the training room. 

“We’ll split up.” Wash says and Tucker feels the wave of authority radiate from him. Wash is pointing towards the way they came from. “Andersmith and Jensen, you go that way as it’s already cleared. Look for a path north towards the rendezvous while Tucker and I go this way.”

“Yes, sir!” Andersmith salutes before motioning for Jensen to follow him back through the alleyway.

“If you wanted me alone without you should’ve just asked” Tucker jokes trying to keep his voice as light as possible. He feels strained and exhausted, the biofoam induced numbness starting to fade away and the first tickles of actual pain were only foreshadowing something much more excruciating. 

He can tell that Wash isn’t having any of his jokes by the way he tilts his helmet before motioning for him to follow him through the rubble. 

Tuckers grasp on his rifle is tight as he marches after Wash. He can see how tense Wash is, and some of that energy keeps him going against his body’s wishes to just stop and rest. Wash’s rifle is focused at all possible snipers’ nests as they climb over rock after rock. 

Someone had lived here, Tucker thinks as he carefully sidesteps a mattress that is overturned and dusty, leaning against what had once was a wall. He doesn’t remember when he had had a place of his own, his memories are only filled with regulation cots and bare walls of various bases. At least there had been other people there with him, Church, Kai, Caboose and even the reds. The walls had never felt empty there. And then afterwards with Wash, the walls seemed a bit warmer. He wonders if he’d ever feel comfortable living on his own again after all these years. 

Wash won’t, Tucker thinks his gaze slipping back to watch Wash’s back instead of the flanks he is supposed to be watching. After all he had been through, Tucker doubts Wash can ever be happy in an empty apartment. Maybe-

“Captain Tucker, I trust you’re covering our backs and not just staring at mine?”

“What can I say, it’s a fine backside.”

“Tucker.” 

Tucker rolls his eyes at the way Wash rolls the r, irritation and a hint of embarrassment clear in his voice. He bets Wash is as red as Sarge underneath that helmet. He smiles, the pain forgotten for one glorious second.

It takes them a while to clear the rubble as most of it is unstable and requires careful footing which only makes Tucker wince with every step. He vows to take the longest hottest shower when they get back from this and then sleep for the next four weeks. 

“You okay?” Wash asks as he places a steadying hand on his arm as he sways at the last hop down to the street level again. This isn’t battle Wash, this is the Wash of late nights and food fights, of rare but heartfelt laughs and early morning coffees.

“No but I’ll be fine.” He answers leaning into his hand for a brief second, enjoying the sensation of another person’s presence. Wash’s hand squeezes his arm before letting go and leading them further away from the total implosion of the mission. 

Tucker has no memory of this mission or any clues to why it had gone so bad so quick, but he doesn’t want to dig deeper afraid that the echoes would return and he can’t afford to slow Wash down further than he already did. Yet he can’t shake the feeling that something is off, that something is- wrong. 

The air around him seems to suddenly get electrified as he hears the shot echo in the narrow alley they are in. It has to have been from a sniper rifle, the sound is unmistakable. He looks down but can’t see anything and yet he feels cold and terrified. 

“Tucker-“

One glance and he knows. The armor protecting Wash’s chest, all the important parts, is torn by the sheer force of the shot that rang through the narrow alley they were in. He feels like he’s dunked into icy water as he looks up at Wash only seeing the mirrored image of his own helmet reflected in Wash’s visor. 

“Look at me and breathe Wash, this is nothing you’re going to be fine” Tucker can hear his voice reassuring Wash as he moves as if in slow motion to grab his arm and throwing it over his shoulder all of his own pain forgotten and overridden with the adrenaline that surges through him. All that matters are to make it those final few hundred yards, Grey will know how to fix-

Wash screams in pain as he takes a step with Tucker, and much to Tuckers horror he can hear the gurgle. This is not happening. No, they are getting on that ship and-

“Tucker just g-“

“No I’m not leaving you because we’re going to make it and you’re going to be fine and we’ll be fine and I’ll kick your ass for scaring me like this-“

Wash’s hand grabs his and stops him. He can feel Wash’s labored breath against him.

“Okay. I’m going to put you down so that I can fix this- I can fix this-“ He says helping Wash sit against the wall of a collapsed building. His hands move frantically, trying to find the biofoam-

Oh no. His biofoam is beside that solider on the main street where Jensen had emptied it in a doomed attempt at compassion towards a fellow solider. 

“Tucker. Stop.”

It seems like the world stops with that one word. Deep down he knew, from that first sight of that twisted armor that there isn’t any hope of making it. Tucker can feel his energy seeping away, draining through his legs spilling onto the street as so much blood had already spread. All denial leaves him as he looks at Wash. He feels small, smaller than he has ever felt as he falls onto his knees in front of Wash. Wash is supposed to survive this, he always makes it back.

“You’re gonna do great-“

A chuckle tears through him only half of it a sob as Wash takes his hand. 

“Isn’t it my job to comfort you?”

“This isn’t my- first time accepting death.” 

This time there is no point in hiding the sob that tears through him as he watches Wash reach up and take off his helmet. He is paler than usual, the freckles covering his face even more pronounced. The dark circles around his eyes shine like the rest of his skin, sweaty with the effort of dying. His hair is dark as deep space and drenched with his sweat. Tucker is confused, Wash’s hair is usually the shade of wheat swaying in the golden light of the sun-

“There was still so much I needed to say-“ Tucker grasps his hand tighter as a wave of pain rolls through him as his eyes gazing up towards the sky almost wistfully. All thoughts of hair and sunny fields leave his mind, those things unimportant and secondary. “Tell Caboose he’s doing great, and that I’ll miss him. Tell him that I said he needs to listen to you and Carolina.”

“I will.” The hollowness inside of him continues growing with every second and he feels like his insides are turning into tar. He cannot believe this is happening. 

“Tell Carolina that she won the betting pool. And that she was the best boss one could ever want.”

“I- I will.”

“And Tucker- I’m so proud of you- and I believe in you. You can do this without me.”

“Could you- stop being so fucking melodramatic for once?”

“Tucker I-“ 

“Wash please don’t-“

“No Tucker I need to say this- I can’t die without saying this. I don’t know when or why but somehow, you’re the first thing I think of when I wake up and the last thing I think of before I fall asleep. You’re the one I look for in the cafeteria or the battlefield and today when you didn’t answer your radio I-“

His words die in his throat as he watches Wash watch him. There’s so much emotion in his eyes and frailty and the pain and weight of this confession. So many late nights missed, so many mornings spent on unnecessary things. 

“Please Wash-“ He doesn’t even know what he’s pleading for but the words just tumble out of his mouth. Is he pleading for him not to die, to not say what he was going to say, to not close his eyes, to stay with him, to stop-

“I- love you Tucker.”

The whisper is so quiet yet so loud that it shakes the entire world. Tucker’s breath gets stuck in his chest trapped by the bricks that seem to have taken residence inside him. For a moment, it is all that exists in this wretched world, him and Wash’s limp hand in his hands, the tears on his cheeks that will drown him and the pain that wrecks him like white hot fire burning through him leaving him as cold and empty like this entire world is without Wash leading the way, believing, trusting, loving him.

The pain rolls over him, it seems like the world around him close in with a white roar but he doesn’t care. Wash’s eyes are empty and hollow, as empty and hollow as he feels. The whiteness roars like an angry ocean filling the air with static and white noise that grows louder and louder drowning all other thoughts and sounds. 

It reaches him within seconds and engulfs him in light and screams, pulling him away from Wash and from himself. He looks down only to see himself sitting by Wash yet he can’t reach them as he is pulled away. The light is too bright to keep his eyes open but even at the risk of blinding himself he looks at the pair down in that alley as long as he can until the light swallows them too, leaving him alone in the light. 

He swirls in the light for a brief second, for an eternity, for all time and none until he smacks feet first down only to stare into the headlights of a semi barreling towards him.


	3. Chapter Two

His feet hit the ground and for a moment the world stops as he stares at the truck barreling towards him and the driver trying to swerve. He feels his arm being grabbed and yanked as he is pulled out of the way of the truck. The world is warm and bright and filled with the angry honk of the truck driver speeding off. 

“And I thought I had bad luck with cars! You okay?”

That voice. Tucker turns around. Those familiar warm eyes are staring at him, like they can see his soul and he cannot breathe. Those eyes had accompanied him through so many nights, so many fights. This can’t be real, he had just seen the warmth leave those eyes, how is he here drowning in their depths again? 

“Wash?” His voiced cracks as his hands move to their own will touching the man beside him to make sure he is here and not in his head. 

“How do you know my name- Oh my god you live next door right? It’s something with T-“

“Tucker.” He releases a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. His fingers find warm clothes and most importantly Wash. He doesn’t care how, he doesn’t care what the cost might have been, the only thing he cares about is Wash, and that he's alive and breathing and- smiling? His smile is so pure and light and nothing he has seen before. It takes him by surprise, contrasting against every memory that tries to fight the confusion in his mind as it illuminates the street and the dark corners of his soul. 

“That’s it! I’m sorry I’m so bad with names, my memory isn’t what it used to be.” 

Wash rises up and offers his hand to Tucker who only now realizes that they have been lying on the sidewalk on what seems to be a very busy street. People are looking at them as they walk by. Tucker looks up and takes Wash’s hand and lets himself be pulled up. His hand feels warm in his and he lingers just a moment too long before letting go. He brushes the dust of his clothes trying to make sense of all if this. To his surprise, he is wearing civilian clothes. And his leg is fine, no evidence of a gash or the mess biofoam always left.

_“How bad can it be?”_

No this is a city, why would he be wearing anything else? He sees Wash looking at him with that same burrow of his brow as he had when they had been back at Chorus-

“What-when, how?” He blurts out only to be met with a worried look.

“You hit your head. We should head for the hospital-”

“No!" He blurts out cutting him off mid sentence. The last place he wants to go to is a hospital. He knows he can’t explain what was happening to him and in the worst-case scenario he’d be spending his remaining days in the psych ward. "I mean, I’m fine just a bit disorientated by this heat. I think I’ll just need to lie down and drink some water and I’ll be fine.”

Wash looks at him pensively before nodding and offering to lead the way back to their apartment building as he is heading that way anyway. The way he says it makes Tucker think that he’s expecting him to keel over at any moment. Tucker doesn’t blame him for thinking that, he’d be wheeling himself off to the hospital as well but he feels relatively fine. He doesn’t feel faint or exhausted, just really fucking confused.

His mind struggles to make any sense of the situation. Wash died, he can feel the weight of his limp hand in his but here he is, following Wash in a completely different place. He’s sure that Wash had died in that alley as it had felt so real he can't imagine his brain would come up with that on its own. There is no way that did not happen, but this feels real as well. The sun on his face, Wash’s smile and the touch of his skin. All of this is real. Yet the past was real too. He can’t make any sense of these contradictions. He feels like he should understand, like he has the key to understand this, a memory he just can’t reach. 

Before he knows it, he’s being ushered through the constant stream of people that walk on the sidewalk. He doesn’t remember when was the last time he had seen this many people, let alone people out of their armor.

The air seems lighter and cleaner than he remembers and the sun shines on his face like it had when they had been at Blood Gulch. The city is vibrant and sharp, its colors warm and bright glaring at him as he walks with Wash by his side tall as ever, looking like a man on a mission. He looks way younger Tucker realizes as they stand at a red light waiting for the endless stream of cars to stop. No dark bags under his eyes, no grey in his hair and no excessive amounts of scars littering every inch of his skin. He can’t get the image of Wash’s empty eyes out of his mind, he can’t stop comparing that image to the man that stands by his side.

“What are you looking at?” Wash asks glancing at Tucker, clearly uncomfortable with the scrutiny he’s under. 

“I think I’ve seen you die.” Tucker blurts only then realizing how crazy that must sound. Wash raises a single eyebrow at him as they move with the sea of people over the road. He must be considering turning them back around and marching him to the doctors. “In a dream, I mean! Of course, in a dream, where else right?”

“That’s- unsettling.”

You have no idea, Tucker thinks. He has just seen and felt Wash die and now he’s here on this sunny walk with him, who fundamentally feels like Wash but doesn’t look like him at the same time. Something’s going on here, and he’s determined to get to the bottom of it. 

Let’s get the facts straight he thinks to himself falling into comfortable step by Wash’s side. First thing he remembers is the battle, of Andersmith yanking him down to safety from the bullets that flew above them. 

No, there is something before that. There was the echo and there was light and that voice echoing in his head before all that. And here he is again dropped down in another moment he has no memories of after a white light had consumed him. That’s the only thing in common here, he thinks dodging a cyclist, but he can’t explain the light. Nor does he have any specific memories of before that light. He remembers Chorus, he remembers everything up to a few weeks after Hargrove had been imprisoned. 

There's a gap in his memory he realizes. There's time missing and as hard as he tries he cannot reach those memories. It feels like his own mind is fighting him, preventing him on grasping those memories. There must be something there, he didn’t just appear in a white light out of nowhere. And whatever it was, it had reset with Wash’s death. Tucker feels like his insides are being twisted as if by invisible hands.

And he knows Wash. He knows the people and the planet of Chorus. He knows how to fight. All of that was familiar, whilst this isn’t. He has no memories of a Wash that isn’t scarred and broken. He has no memories of large cities with civilian population just living without armor and rations. 

“So, you’re my neighbor?” Tucker asks figuring it’s the least suspicious question to ask. He feels the beginning of a massive headache pounding at the back of his head.

“Yeah.” Wash nods with a small smile clearly relieved in the break of silence. “I moved in a few weeks ago so don’t feel guilty not remembering me.”

“I think I would’ve remembered you though.” Tucker says ignoring the stab in his heart his eyes only seeing the way his face had relaxed when he had stopped breathing-

“I’m flattered.” Wash says with a laugh. Tucker finds himself mesmerized by the way his nose crinkles when he laughs making all his freckles dance. Had it always done that?

He finds himself smiling as they turn right into a quiet street. A small nondescript apartment building stands in front of a worn parking lot littered with old cars that look like they had had their peak years a few decades ago. 

At least it’s quiet, Tucker thinks as he walks beside Wash over the parking lot glancing around him. The street’s not busy and the buildings around him seem to be either abandoned or housing offices. The area screams low-income.

“So, how are you living in a place like this?” He asks Wash as he’s digging through his pockets to find the key to the front door. Locked front doors are a nice touch Tucker thinks as he leans against the brick façade. 

“It’s cheap.” Wash answers with a sheepish smile on his face. “The shelter pays okay, but I can’t afford much more than this in a city like this one.” 

“Tell me about it.” Tucker answers as if he knows that. Looking around he agrees that this must be a cheap neighborhood but he has no knowledge of this part of town. Fake it til you make it, he reminds himself as he follows Wash into the dimly lit staircase trying not to stare too much at Wash as he climbs the stairs before him. 

“You work at the shelter?” He asks stepping over a broom left by a cleaner years ago by the look of the building. 

“Yeah. I’ve always loved animals so when I heard they were hiring I thought why not?” 

He hums an agreement as they rise yet another floor.

He feels conflicted. On one side, he enjoys how much Wash told him in these few moments they had been talking. On the other hand, he doesn’t know of any of it was real. What is even reality? It’s not this he thinks, as he looks at Wash who seems familiar and yet so wrong. This isn’t Wash. This is some other version, a faulty variant of Wash. The real Wash is older, battle worn and most importantly on Chorus. 

_“How bad can it be?”_

“Did you say something?”

“No? You sure you didn’t hit your head?” Wash asks stopping to look at him. There’s the same look he knows from before, that I’m not sure if I believe any of your bullshit-look.

“I’m fine.” Tucker says waving of the concern. “I’ll just need to get something to drink and I’ll be A-Okay.”

“I’m not sure I believe you-“ What a shocker. “-so just be careful. You got anything to drink at home?”

Does he? Tucker has no idea. He has no idea which one of these doors was his let alone what’s behind it. 

“Judging by your look it’s safer if you just pop into my place.” Wash opens the door to his right and motions for him to step inside.

His place is clean and tidy as Tucker carefully enters. It‘s a small apartment with small windows but the place still feels a bit unlived. Wash closes the door behind them, and brushes against Tucker as he walks past him to get to the tiny kitchen to get him something to drink. He feels the electricity between them and

Would this be how Wash’s place would look like, or had it looked like this before everything had gone down? Would Wash have only the bare minimum of furniture, and only a few mementos around his apartment? Tucker moves towards the photos that are hung on the wall by the door, the only things hanging on his walls. He can’t recognize any of the people in the pictures. Did Wash have pictures of his past?

“Here you go.” Wash emerges from the kitchen with a bottle of water. “You sure you don’t want to sit down?”

“I’m fine thanks.” Tucker answers taking the bottle. He can’t shake the feeling of being an intruder, like he doesn’t quite belong here.

Wash looks like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands as they stand in silence while Tucker drinks his water. He recognizes that awkwardness from before, seems like some things are universal. 

“You gonna be okay?” Wash finally asks breaking the silence as they stand in the hallway outside their apartments. “You can hit me up if there’s anything I can do or I you need anything.”

Even if this is not his Wash, it’s still Wash and he can't seem to ignore the almost electric pull that Wash seems to have. There's no place he would rather be, he realizes. There's nothing else here, it's all Wash. That realization makes him shiver. He's not sure what to feel, and all he can think about is the taste of Wash's kisses behind that vehicle maintenance bay at Chorus, the feel of his trembling breath against his sleek skin after he pinned him to the floor during sparring and that hungry look in his eyes-

“Thanks. I will.” 

Wash seems relieved by that answer and bids his goodbyes. Tucker stares at his closed door for a while longer trying to sort his feelings. This shit’s so fucked up, he concludes with a resigned shake of his head before he grasps his keys and enters his apartment. 

\---

Several weeks goes by before they see each other again. Tucker spends that time trying to get fluent at this version of his life. He learns that he’s employed at the local 24h gym part-time and for once he’s glad he remembers some of the drills Wash had put him through on Chorus. The rest of his time he spends indoors trying to decipher everything and anything about his life. There’s not a lot of information on him so he is freer to act like he would under normal circumstances.

There’s nothing on a planet or place called Chorus anywhere he looks. He feels so alone out here, no idea on how he’ll get back. It’s not like this is some place in the same universe he came from but this is a whole new universe. A universe where none of the things he had been through had happened. He can’t just hop on a ship at the airport and head for Chorus and everything would be alright again. 

He continues his research, looking at everything about a bright light and voices but none of the results are promising. Either he’s crazy or he’s going to die. Neither of those seems too likely so he just drops the matter. 

He feels confused. The light had thrown him into another loop or universe that hadn’t been the real world. Last time the bright light happened Wash had died and that’s not something he wants to experience again. He fears that a possible reset will only pull him deeper into whatever this is, but he doesn’t have an answer on what will end the loop. But for now, the solution is easy though, if Wash doesn't die he's okay. If Wash dies he's back to square one. He hatches a plan. 

That plan of not letting Wash die requires him to actually see and interact Wash. He learns that he works the graveyard shift, so he switches up a few shifts so that he’s working night as well. It still takes a few days until he finally bumps into Wash in the dim parking lot only illuminated by the sliver of light from the rising sun. 

“Yo Wash!” He calls out to him, jogging across the parking lot to meet up with him. As he gets closer he sees just how tired Wash looks. He’s wearing a hoodie that’s covered in animal hair and his hair looks like he either had the time of his life or he just crawled out of a ditch. “Christ man you look like shit.”

“Thanks.” The sarcasm drips of his answer but he smiles nonetheless. The smile turns into a yawn as he rubs his five o’clock shadow. He looks good, Tucker thinks, even at this hour. “It was one hell of a night, one of the older dogs puked on me and then the evening shift guy forgot to look the door to the cattery so I needed to herd them back.”

“Well if it’s any consolation I only had two customers the entire night and I forgot to charge my phone. I sat and counted the tiles on the roof. There’s 314 and I'm sure one of them has cum on it. Don't ask me how it got there.”

“One of life's great mysteries.” Wash says opening the front door. 

“I know right." He dashes past him and walks backwards to the stairs to get a look at Wash. "I’m starving, you have breakfast with me?"

The truth is that he had purposefully bought an excess amount of eggs yesterday just for this excuse. He remembers one morning at Chorus where they had talked about what they would kill for. _“A really good omelet.”_ Wash had said with an almost mad glint in his eyes. _“The kind with loads of cheese. Real cheese and not the crappy one that’s in the rations.”_

By the look Wash gives him in the staircase, he almost has him hooked. So, awkwardness and the love for omelets seems to be universal for these Washes. Tucker sees that Wash is so close on caving in so he sweetens the deal.

“I know this really great recipe for extra cheesy omelets’ if you’re feeling adventurous.” He says with a wink leaning against his door. This great recipe of his is the product of vigorous internet searching. 

“I mean if it’s not too much-“ He shoots, he scores! “I’ll need to change first though, so if it’s okay I’ll be there in a few?”

“Awesome dude!” He answers and watches Wash retreat into his own apartment. 

This is just to get to know Wash better and make sure he’s not in any kind of trouble he tells himself as he rushes into his own apartment picking a few stray clothes and throwing them into his hamper. Just simple reconnaissance, nothing more. Then why is he so goddamn nervous?

“Focus.” He tells himself. This is Wash, he’s lived with Wash for years. He knows Wash, he knows that he drinks his coffee black and that he grimaces when he drinks the first sip and then claims he loves it. He knows the way his eyes twinkle when he’s trying to be mad even though he’s dying of laughter on the inside. He knows the way his voice cracks when he laughs. He can map his freckles any day. Yet here he is tapping his hand nervously against his counter. He feels like he should remember more of the real Wash. 

This is different though. He doesn’t know how much of that knowledge applies here.

Mercifully his thoughts are cut short by a knock on his door. He mutters encouragement to himself as he opens the door to find a shower fresh Wash standing there. For a moment, he swears his heart stops as his eyes wander across his slightly damp t-shirt to his wet and tousled hair. His sweatpants hang low on his hips and it takes all his willpower not to attach himself to him and never let go. 

“Uh- come in!” 

“Thanks.” Wash brushes past him as Tucker takes a second to gather his thoughts. The last time he had seen a shower fresh Wash was that one night when he had quite literally run into Wash, who was only wearing low hanging sweatpants showing off all his damp muscles. He had made a joke, he had scowled at him then told him off on running in the hallways. He isn’t ashamed to admit that sight was in his mind for a lot of nights.

“It smells really good!” Wash says as Tucker follows him into the kitchen. Wash is leaning over the ingredients plucking a cherry tomato into his mouth. 

“Of course, I’m the best cook on this planet.” He answers with a wink as he moves in to check the omelets. 

“Oh, I’m sure.” Wash smirks at him leaning against the counters watching Tucker. 

“I’m hurt! I promised you a world-class omelet and you repay me with snark?” 

Wash laughs at his feigned hurt. The kitchen falls silent apart from the sizzle of the omelet on the pan. This feels familiar to Tucker. He has spent so many days- no months like this, just standing by Wash without the burden of having to keep up a conversation the entire time. Once he had yelled at Wash for not being a good conversation partner but later he had realized he was just a different type than he was used to. No matter what he wants to talk about he knows he can go to Wash and he’ll listen without judgement. At the same time, there isn’t a need for words. Sometimes the silent sparring sessions spoke more than words ever could.

Wash looks out the tiny window in the kitchen, watching the sunrise color the grey buildings in shades of yellow and orange promising a beautiful day. His features are softer in this light, his hair glimmering with gold tones. He seems to be somewhere far away in his thoughts, his eyes studying something other than the spectacle outside. 

He wonders how old this Wash is. He seems a lot younger in some ways but at the same time he radiates that same specific brand of authority only Wash seems to master. He doesn’t have the same tiredness he’s used to seeing on Wash, the kind that came from years of exposure to the worst humanity could throw at you. This Wash doesn’t seem to be burdened by the same burdens he is used to seeing. 

“Tucker?"

"Yeah?"

"Your omelet is burning.”

“Fuck!”

That’s what he gets for getting distracted, he thinks as he throws the charred remains of the omelet into the trash. Wash is eating another tomato as he looks amused at him.

“Not a word from you.” Tucker says pointing at him accusingly with his spatula. Wash raises his arms in mock surrender but Tucker can see the smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “What’s so funny?”

“To be honest I’m glad that you seem like a normal person and not a raging lunatic. There’s also the fact that you vastly oversold your cooking abilities just to get me to come over when all you had to do was ask.”

“That obvious huh?”

“Oh yeah.” Wash answers with a laugh. 

“It worked though.”

“That it did.”

Tucker motions for Wash to sit down as he plates an omelet for him. He watches anxiously as Wash tastes it hoping to all deities that he likes it. Wash takes his time tasting the omelet so long in fact that Tucker’s convinced he hates it. He hates it and this is the last time he’d see him.

“Tucker.”

“Yeah?”

“This is the best omelet I’ve ever had.”

Tucker’s victory dance is accompanied by Wash’s laughs, a sound so sweet to Tucker’s ears that he could listen to it and only it for the rest of his life. Yet his heart sinks with that thought, as it feels like a betrayal to the real Wash where ever he might be. 

That guilt lingers with him throughout their breakfast as he listens to Wash talk about his life and the animals at the shelter. He’s distracted as he listens, trying to piece these facts with facts he knows about Wash. He vaguely recalls Wash mentioning something about cats but he can’t recall that memory. The guilt mix with dread. Has he already started to loose grip on the real Wash? 

Yet he laughs and engages in the conversation. There’s something about Wash, all the variants of Wash that pull him to them. Even here where the guilt and dread storm inside him he can’t stop looking at him. What is wrong with him?

“This was fun.” Wash admits as he stands in the hallway ruffling his hair after breakfast. His eyes are sleepy and warm as they look right at his. Tucker leans against his door frame watching him. 

“Same time tomorrow?” Tucker asks trying to keep his voice steady and heart calm as he watches Wash yawn and stretch in the hallway bathing in the early morning light. A part of him wants to back out, to forget this Wash but he can’t fight the pull. 

“We’ll see.” 

Tucker can hear the unspoken promise and just nods. We’ll see usually means yes with Wash, at least with the Wash he knows. We’ll see means I’ll try my damndest to make this happen. That thought alone makes him smile as he closes the door long after Wash had retreated into his own apartment. We’ll see.

\---

“Wash I fucking know you’re in there!” 

Tucker knows he’s being obnoxiously loud in the hallway and that he’s probably bothering the entire building but he’s so far beyond caring. His fist won’t stop colliding with the door of Wash’s apartment. 

“Wash! You come open this door right now!”

Three weeks. Three fucking weeks since he last saw him. Everything had been going so well Tucker thinks with bitterness tarnishing those memories. The guilt and dread had disappeared and their cause had been forgotten with them. He had been so happy. For months, he had found himself opposite of Wash for that one sweet hour as they ate and talked about everything under this sun. For months, he had sat there controlling himself and his emotions as he kept a watchful eye on Wash because keeping Wash alive was more important than the urge to jump him across the table and ride him in the golden light flowing through that small window. So instead he sat there and sipped his coffee and listened to Wash talk about the cats at the shelter.

“Fuck you Wash!” He screams at the door only partially angry. He’s sick with worry. He even called the shelter to see if he was off sick but had instead learned that he had requested to work day instead of night. “I’ll fucking kick this door down if you don’t open it!”

“Go away Tucker!” Wash’s voice seems strained as his voice carries from behind the door. 

“This is such bullshit Wash! Just open the fucking door!”

His boot is about to hit the door as it suddenly opens. Tucker pushes past Wash into his apartment much to the surprise of him.

“Hey!” Wash exclaims.

Tucker swirls around to be face to face with Wash. He seems like he hasn’t been sleeping well at all judging by the circles under his eyes and the frown on his face, though the latter might’ve be because Tuckers banging on his door until he was forced to relent. The circles under his eyes seem familiar and yet he can’t place them. Had he seen Wash this tired before?

“You been sleeping?” Tucker asks letting worry over his health take over from the anger. Wash rolls his eyes so hard Tucker’s half sure that he’s going to break something.

“Does that even matter?”

“Of fucking course it matters!” Tucker exclaims the anger flaring up again. He takes a step forward poking his finger into his chest. “I fucking care and so should you!”

“Tucker just stop.” Wash exclaims taking a step backwards flailing his arms. “There’s no point in pretending anymore so just drop the act.”

“Drop what fucking act!”

“Oh please! Stop acting like you care about me!”

“You’re a fucking idiot Wash. What have I done to you that supports that fucking claim? Why the fuck would I be pretending to like you?”

“You think I couldn’t see the guilt in your eyes? Those first times, you were consumed by guilt! Are you married or is this some kind of twisted joke to you? Making me care for you so you can dump me for laughs?“

“What?” 

Tucker stops, his mouth still hanging open trying to process what he just heard.

“Wash for fucks sake.” He whispers as he stumbles backwards until he hits his couch. All the anger that had surged through him disappear in an instance as he deflates. He can't keep his voice from cracking. “You seriously think that?”

Wash just looks at him. Tucker feels like his chest is filled with bricks and he can’t breathe. He can’t believe he hadn’t noticed this before, had he been so caught up in his own thoughts and worries that he had not seen this develop? 

“I don’t know what to say.” He confesses with a sigh. “I’m not married and I’m most definitely not pulling you along for a laugh. There’s just some things in my past that I am- no, that I _was_ struggling at the beginning. But now? All those thoughts are gone. You’re the person I think about all the time.”

Tucker looks at Wash as he stands cross armed in the darkness of the hallway. The silence is deafening in the small space and he struggles to breathe. He can’t believe he didn’t notice. He hopes he can fix this, as he has grown used to Wash and his company. His body aches with the thought of losing him. 

Wash hesitates but lowers his arms. 

“Is that true?”

“I’d never lie to you.” He answers and feels the weight of that truth settle over him. All that matters now is Wash, and their breakfast and the sight of him in his kitchen. There’s no guilt and there’s no doubt. He wants him now and forever. 

He stands up and walks over to Wash and captures his lips in a tentative kiss. Wash is still against him for just long enough that he feels himself start to die on the inside, but then he grabs him closer and kisses him back. His heart sings as he moves against Wash, feeling him and his warmth against his skin. He wants him. 

Wash breaks away to look at him, his eyes dark with want and yet tentative and afraid of rejection. Tucker smooths the fabric of his shirt under his hand and looks back at him.

He closes the gap between them and stands on his tiptoes as he presses his lips against Wash’s. Wash seems taken aback by the sudden change and Tucker presses forward until he feels Wash’s back collide against the hallway wall. He bites Wash’s lower lip cupping his face in his hand. Wash’s hand grabs his shirt pulling him closer, a visible hunger in his movements. Tucker smiles against his lips grasping onto Wash’s hair giving him a short tug. The moan that escapes Wash’s mouth makes him twitch and he can feel his hunger for him fill him.

“Is this really happening?” Wash voice is breathless as Tucker moves on from his lips to attack his neck. Tucker chuckles as he bites gently into his neck earning a growl he’s sure to archive for later. 

“Fuck yeah it’s happening. You have no idea how hard I’ve been controlling myself not to jump you every morning since that first one.”

He can feel Wash still underneath him and before he knows it it’s his back that slams into the wall. He looks up at Wash seeing the hunger dance in his eyes as he presses his knee between his thighs. His arms are held securely by one of his high above his head exposing him to him.

“Oh really?” Wash’s breath ghosts along his skin making him shiver with anticipation. Tucker hums his answer grinding down on his knee between his thighs desperate for any friction. He has waited so long for this. 

Wash’s free hand travels across his body leaving behind a trail of heat as his mouth was merciless against his neck. Tucker can’t stop the moans that echoes in the small space nor does he want to. Wash’s teasing left him wanting more.

“Fuck Wash please-“ He groans as Wash’s hand cups him. He can’t help the way his hips try to move against this hand his head thrown against the wall exposing him to Wash’s wandering kisses. 

“Please what?” Wash asks against his throat. Tucker can hear the command in his voice and his knees almost give out. That voice resonates with him, pulling and tugging at repressed memories but he pushes them back. Now is not the time for those, all he wants to think and feel is Wash against him, whispering in his ear. 

He can feel Wash against his thigh, the hardness apparent even through his jeans. Wash is so close, he fills everything in Tucker’s world until all that is left was him and his touch holding him together. As Wash’s hand palms him through his pants he’s sure that if he stops touching him he will fall apart. 

“I want you. So bad.” He moans shamelessly grinding down on his hand. 

Wash’s lips crashes against his biting and sucking, pressing him harder against the wall. Tucker whines as his hand moves away from him only to find it lifting his shirt. Wash releases his hands to pull the shirt over his head to immediately push him against the wall. Tuckers hands grasps Wash’s shirt as he presses himself against him.

The hallway is filled the sounds of sloppy kisses and breathless moans as they strip down. Wandering hands explore and map every inch of skin, craving to touch every part of the other. Tuckers fingers tangle themselves into Wash’s hair pulling his head so that he has access to his neck. Wash pulls his hips against his grinding themselves together as their moans mixed in the air filling the universe with the sounds of their pleasure.

Wash wraps his hand around both of them moving his hand slowly and teasingly. Tucker shivers at the sensation, his breath short and heavy against Wash’s ear making him groan louder and quicken his pace. Wash’s body is the only thing holding Tucker up as he grinds against his hand desperate for him. He feels he’s close, it has been a long time since the last time he felt someone’s skin against his own and the burn it leaves against his own. The words spilling out of his mouth doesn’t make any sense anymore as he listens to Wash pant his heartbeat pulsing against him as he brings them closer to the end with every stroke. 

“Faster” he pants sucking down on Wash neck making him whimper. 

Wash’s movements are frantic as he works them towards that bliss they had been dreaming of for months. Tucker captures his mouth kissing him and stealing his breath as he reaches down to cup Wash’s balls. His groan is muffled in his mouth making Tuckers entire body resound with his pleasure. 

Tucker comes first, sloppily and loudly all over them both closely followed by Wash’s release. The hallway echoes their labored breathing as the world steadied itself around them.

“Next- Next time just talk to me instead of moping around like some emo kid.” Tucker breathes against Wash who shakes with a low chuckle. 

“I’ll try.” 

“Good.” He smirks leaning his head against the wall trying to catch his breath. He can't stop smiling. His legs feel like he has run a marathon but he doesn’t care at all. Wash is warm and heavy against him, his skin littered with bite marks he had made. 

“You look so good right now." Wash breathes with a wide smile on his face looking back at him like he’s seeing him for the first time. He has never seen Wash beam like this before and the sight takes his breath away. Remember this moment, he tells himself as he gazes into Wash’s eyes leaning into his hand caressing his cheek. "I think I love you”

He feels it before he hears it. His stomach drops and his hairs stand on end as the first roar of noise reaches his ears. He looks to the side breaking the connection between them only to see the whiteness roar against him like an angry tidal wave. 

Confusion fills him as he looks back at Wash, frozen in time but most importantly; alive. How is this happening again? Tucker tries to grasp Wash, tries to hang on, to yell, to do anything but there’s no use fighting against the pull. He screams as he watches the last bits get swallowed by the light. 

His lungs ache with his soundless scream as he feels his knees hit the cold and wet pavement. 

_“How bad can it be?”_


	4. Chapter Three

His eyes barely adjust to the darkness before he is slammed against a rough wall. The air escapes his body, not that he had had much of it from the start. He longs back to that small crammed apartment in that crappy apartment building. With Wash’s weight and warmth to ground him to that universe. But here he is in the alleyway behind some old brick building next to a dumpster getting soaked from the pouring rain. 

The figure in front of him is hidden in the shadows of the towering buildings. The street light from the street they are off only shines a dim light that barely reaches halfway to them as they stand chest to chest in the night, with the stranger’s arm across Tuckers throat. 

“I asked you a question!”

As if the world hasn’t thrown him around enough already he recognizes that voice. It’s gruffer than he has grown used to during the past few months in a different life, in a different world but it’s unmistakable. 

“Wash?” He manages to wheeze with a struggle. He’s acutely aware how much stronger Wash is, and how easy it would be for him to snap his neck right here. 

The figure seems taken aback at his knowledge but recovers quickly. The arm on his throat pushes down harder as he seems to restrain himself. He gasps for air, clawing Wash’s arm trying to breathe.

“How do you know my name?” There is a level of anger in his voice that Tucker has never heard from Wash before, not even when they had first met. This is almost feral and sends shivers down Tucker’s spine. He can feel the rage radiate from Wash, the all-consuming anger feels so foreign. He does not know this Wash. 

He has never felt this utterly alone before. No matter how or why he is stuck in these loops the only constant is Wash and this one terrifies him beyond anything he has met before. 

“Don’t make me repeat myself!” Wash snaps at him. 

Tuckers brain comes up with no possible explanation that won’t end with him as a meat puddle on the ground. Hey, we fucked once? You were my team leader and friend? I saw you die? He didn’t think it all would end like this. 

“I-“ 

His thoughts end abruptly as Wash turns away as if to listen to something. Tucker can’t hear anything else than his racing heart and the sound of the rain hitting the dumpster. Oh great, this Wash heard things. 

Then he hears it too. A faint but unmistakable sound of sirens. Wash turns around to look at him for one more second, as if to remember his face, before he takes off in a sprint down the alley. Tucker feels his knees finally give in. 

Tucker wheezes as he hits the ground his lungs greedy for oxygen as he watches Wash run away into the darkness of the night. The rain continues to hammer the earth and seep into his bones as he focuses on his breathing behind the dumpster. Life’s really looking up for you, he thinks with a wince as his throat protests his try at a laugh or cry.

He sees the headlights cut into the darkness as the cop car pulls into the alley. Whoever is driving that thing needs to get their license checked, he thinks as he leaps back to avoid the tires. Second time avoiding death this night, he thinks unable to shake the bitterness that clung to his bones. 

“Tucker!” 

The cruiser door swings open and Tucker sees the driver leap out of the front seat and rush over to him. In the pouring rain, he looks absolutely miserable with his hair matted and glasses speckled with raindrops Tucker knows he will bitch about for days.

“Church?”

“Who else would it be dipshit?” Definitely Church. “Didn’t I tell you not to go after this guy alone- Holy shit what happened to your neck?”

Tucker shrugs as his fingers lingers on his throat. He can feel how tender his throat is and he has to admit swallowing is a bit difficult. Church is going on some rant about how dumb he is but only half of it registered with Tucker. He is tired. No, he is exhausted. All he wants to do is to curl up somewhere warm and forget about the world- all of the worlds. 

He feels his clarity of the situation start to fade. He remembers much more now, at the beginning of the loop he remembers the previous loops before the tides of time wash away that clarity. He remembers being happy at some point. It all seems so distant now. He remembers forgetting things before and it pains him to know it will happen again sooner or later.

“-ing to the hospital!” 

“What?”

“Get in the fucking car Tucker, I’m taking you to the hospital.”

He rides in silence the entire way to the hospital, content to look out of the window at the city they’re driving through. It seems big, high buildings and broad roads that are empty as the rain punishes the city. Church is yammering on about something he lost track about five blocks ago and the police radio broadcasts only static. Guess the criminals are hiding from the rain as well. 

So far, he has gathered that he is part of the police force in this life. God only knows how that happened, he thinks to himself as he rests his head against the side of the car. I guess the military and the force aren’t that far removed but a detective? Wash would-

What would Wash think? And which Wash is he even thinking about. Dead Wash, young Wash, the real Wash who he can’t even remember clearly at this point. All the different versions have begun to mix in his thoughts and he has no idea what is real anymore. His headache only worsens as he thinks about all this fucked up shit so he continues watching the streetlights that passed them. He wishes he was home, whatever that even means anymore. 

The hospital is a multi building complex at the heart of the city. Church pulls in at the emergency room entrance. He clearly doesn’t give a second thought to the legality of his parking. Tucker marches after him into the hospital. The lights are harsh against his eyes after the darkness and softness of the rain. He squints as he is marched further in and seated on a bed. Church hovers like a mother cat and Tucker is happy that he has at least him as an anchor. He feels afloat in the universe, like nothing is real anymore. His brain has started to accept the high saturated colors and the crisp lines as the norm, he cannot remember things being different anymore. 

Dr. Grey marches towards them. Her scrubs are yellow and feel wrong. He can't put his finger on what it is that bothers him. Deep down he just knows that it's wrong.

“Oh wow it’s been a while since my last strangulation victim!” She says with her custom cheer. The singsong notes bring him peace. Normalcy. A small reminder that maybe he isn’t going crazy. That he has something to fight for, something to try to get back to.

“Yeah he tried to go after one of the PFL guys by himself like a big dumb idiot.” Church interjects from behind her. Grey hums an answer to him as she pokes his throat. 

“Severe bruising seems to be the most evident injury here. Can you swallow or talk?”

“Yeah, hurts though.” He answers her as she fusses over him. He has been in her capable hands so many times that this feels comforting. She knows what she is doing. 

“Well duh” she says with a roll of her eyes grasping her light from her pocket and shining it in his eyes. “Can you tell me what day it is?”

“Fuck if I know.”

“That’s interesting. What city is this?”

“No idea.”

“The fuck that’s supposed to mean?” Church asks trying to peer over Grey as she writes her notes in the paperwork. 

“That I can’t remember idiot.”

“It’s Friday, well technically Saturday and this is Clepeia. How don’t you remember that?”

“Amnesia isn’t all that uncommon in strangulation cases. Your memories should come back given time.” If she only knew. “I’m writing you some painkillers to help with the pain, you’re gonna feel so much worse tomorrow, and I want you to see the neurologist first thing Monday. In the meantime, you’re on sick leave and should try to rest up as much as possible. You look terrible detective.”

“Thanks.” 

He feels about as terrible as he looks as he follows Church back out into the night with his prescription tightly grasped in his hand. Church is going on about how weird it was that he didn’t remember while Tucker tries his best to tune it out. He isn’t going to lie; his body is starting to protest against the strain and there isn’t anything in the world that he wouldn’t do to just take his pills and crawl under the blankets until everything was right again. 

The ride to his apartment is shorter than the ride to the hospital which he is grateful for. As much as he appreciates Church being here, and despite the fact he knows his yammering comes from a place of worry, he just really wants to be alone. His body aches but more than that his soul and memories feel like they had shattered into pieces. What had he done to deserve this?

He waves off Church’s offers to escort him all the way inside and watches as his cruiser speeds down the street leaving him in a deafening silence for the first time since he had been dropped here. The rain has stopped but the streets are wet and he feels the chill of the night wrap itself around his legs. 

With a sigh turned grimace, he turns around and walks inside the multistory apartment building. This one is made of bricks and seems to be in better shape than his last apartment. The staircase is eerily quiet as he ascends to the fourth floor where he finds his name on one of the nondescript doors. 

Closing the door behind him he stands in his living room looking out at the parking lot through the curtains. The apartment is small and dark and the only thing he hears is the fridge and the clock ticking on the wall. His own breath is labored and raspy as he tries to wrap his head around the fact that he is back to square one yet again after months of living in the previous world. He can’t stop his body from shaking like it’s crumbling down. 

One look in the fridge confirms that he is in the right apartment as the glaring white light is the only thing that greets him. He slouches against the counter rubbing his face with his hands. A large glass of water eases the painkillers down his throat. The clatter of the glass against the counter echoes in the kitchen as he drags his feet towards the bedroom.

He doesn’t bother with undressing as he collapses on the bed letting his exhaustion take over. He barely has the time to kick off his shoes before he is sound asleep, plagued with images of Washes and echoes of past lives. 

It is well into the evening when he finally rolls over and opens his eyes. His body screams at him, the previous night catching up with him combining with over half a day of immobility making his body seem years older. 

He stumbles into the kitchen after taking a shower only to be reminded that his kitchen is empty of food. Take out it is. His voice is gone and he has to repeat himself in the phone and he still isn’t sure what he will get when his food finally arrives. 

He watches the kids play in the playground outside his kitchen window as he eats. He sways slowly letting his mind rest as he wonders where Junior is and how he’s doing. Last time he heard he was doing well in school but he has no idea how long ago that was. How long had he been stuck in this endless loop? Was he ever getting out of it? The thought alone makes him panic. He cannot be stuck, he needs to get out. 

He rummages through his belongings after he finishes his food trying to find paper of any kind. He pulls all the paper off his old and worn printer and grabs a pen as he leans over his kitchen table. His movements are frantic as he tries to recall everything he can. When, where, who, how- it all blends together as he writes in the diminishing sunlight.

It is well into the night when he finally takes a step back to get a clear picture of his kitchen wall. He has taped everything up as he went, connecting dots with string he got from his cupboards. 

It all started with before the first time, the time he saw Wash die. White light and a roar of deafening sound connects all of the events together. It has to be something important Tucker muses as he circles those on his wall. 

At first, he had thought it was the death of Wash that had triggered the rewind process, or whatever it is, but he had proven himself wrong only a day ago. The second Wash, the happier and younger Wash hadn’t died. But, he contemplates biting his pen, they had both said I love you shortly before it all ended. 

He runs his fingers through his hair as he considers the facts. 

One; he is stuck in some kind of loop where the scenario ends when Wash says he loved him. Two; he has no idea how long he has been in these loops and three; he has no idea how he can break free of the loop. What if he can’t-no what if he doesn’t know what is the real world anymore? 

He lets out a frustrated huff as he hops onto his counter. No use in wondering that, he scolds himself. He’d know. There is no way he wouldn’t recognize the real Wash.

Except that he feels deep in his heart that if he’s stuck in these loops for much longer he would lose contact with the real memories, of the real facts. Of the real Wash. He’s already losing memories and connections. He jumps down from the table ignoring the way his hands trembles as he takes out yet another paper he titles “Wash”.

The real Wash has scars. Tucker remembers how they had shared stories behind some of them on a rooftop in Chorus. Wash has freckles. Tucker can see how they stand out in the sunshine, how they move when Wash laughs or when he yells at them. Wash has trouble sleeping. He had heard him stumble about in the base for countless nights before he joined him for nightly walks. 

He keeps going until his hand hurts and the paper is filled with things he knows are real for certain, things he isn’t sure of and things he knows to be lies that he had learned from these simulations. The latter column is far too long for his liking. 

“What’s the next step?” He asks out loud as he tapes the paper on the wall. It’s well into the night he realizes. The entire apartment is dark and silent, and makes his skin crawl. This isn’t his place, not truly, and this silence and darkness only amplify that to him. He doesn’t belong in this universe or this apartment. 

Before he knows it, he has slipped his jacket on and he is barreling down the stairs. No use in sleeping he thinks as he exits onto the dark parking lot. His lungs protest the quick exit and he can already hear Grey's shrill voice lecturing him on what rest means. 

He sticks his hands deep into his pockets as he starts to walk. He has no idea where he is going nor does he have any idea how he would find his way back to his apartment. All he knows was that he has to get away from there and from that smothering silence. 

The city is quiet around him but he can feel the silent energy of it as he wanders down street after street. His mind is racing, trying to make sense of it all but he can feel that he would not find any answers here. 

His mind always seems to be drawn back to that moment in the alley. Wash had attacked him looking like he was going to kill him. Wash has never behaved that violently, that viciously in the real world. He had never been utterly terrified of him. Not even when he was trying to be a bad guy, no he had been more pissed off than scared. 

Frustrated he kicks a trashcan and hears how its noise fills the empty streets. He feels like that trashcan, trying its best and then somebody came along and kicked it. Now it’s sideways, disoriented and rolling on the sidewalk. 

“Way to sound crazy.” He mutters to himself as he turns the corner only to find himself straight across from the police station. It seems to be the only building in this part of town that houses life. People are moving inside casting shadows through the windows and cruisers drive past the massive stone building.

Guess this is where I work in this world, Tucker reflects frozen to that street corner. He doesn’t know what to think about all of this, yet alone why he has walked here of all places. Here he would face constant questions he can’t answer and looks he doesn’t want to meet. Yet there’s a part of him that knows he needs to be here tonight. Why would he-

No wait. _Church!_

Church had recognized and understood why he was in that alley. Church knew what he had been doing, which meant he knows Wash or knows of Wash and he would only know that if they had been working the case together! 

“Holy shit.” He whispers. “He knows Wash.” 

His legs move as if to their own accord as he rushes towards the building. This is his chance to get answers, even if they might not be the ones he’s looking for. These won’t solve the largest one, that being how to get back home again, but at this point he’s going to accept any answer he can get his hands on. 

The information board hanging in the lobby points him to the right direction and he tries to keep out of the way as much as possible. Luckily, most of the people here at this hour seem to work downstairs.

He enters the second floor only to smack into- Sarge?

“What are you doing here son? I heard you were on leave after getting your ass kicked by the enemy!”

He hasn’t thought it was possible but this Sarge is even louder than the real one. He looks old, Tucker thinks as he tries to back away from his towering stature. 

“You know, couldn’t sit around doing nothing, could I?” If he had learned anything from all those crappy TV-remakes of even crappier cop series was that cops didn’t like to sit around. He tries to look as nonchalant as possible as he waits to see if Sarge believes him. 

“I knew it! There’s still some honest cop in you, even if you’re a rotten blue!” 

Somethings never change. 

“Ha, yeah so about that? Is Church around?” 

Sarge looks around and leans over to peer into a side room to the left.

“Nah ain’t nobody from blue team here tonight except for you.”

“Oh okay, well I’m not going to disrupt your evening more so I’ll be on my way…”

He navigates around the office by the sight of brightly colored signs. One side of the open space had been painted at some point in vibrant red and the other with blue paint. Tucker feels Sarge’s eyes on his back as he ducks through the blue door to escape his gaze. 

The room he finds himself is packed with papers and folders on desks but his eyes are drawn to the back wall where against the windows he finds a very large board filled with paper clippings and pictures. It’s everything he has ever seen on TV. 

He walks by the desks trying to decipher who’s desks they were. The one in the far corner has to be Church’s as Tucker picks up a black and white picture of Church and what he suspects is Tex. He puts it carefully back as he had learned his lesson to stay away from that shitshow. 

Cabooses desk is messy with the trashcan overflowing with Capri-Suns. A small toy dog is sitting next to his monitor. He moves around Cabooses desk to find what must be Kais desk. The papers are in neat piles illuminated by the moving tropical monitor screensaver. 

He moves away with haste. This room makes him feel homesick. His insides are heavy as he avoids looking at his own desk in fear it might make him feel worse than he’s already.

The board is packed with newspaper clippings, statements, pictures and most importantly a fuckton of red yarn connecting it all to the middle of the board. The picture that connected everything is a blurry printed picture cut from a newspaper article. Tucker takes a step forward so he can see better who the two people are. 

“Doctor Church (left), newly appointed head researcher at PFL shakes hands with CEO Hargrove (right).” He reads out loud. “What the fuck?”

This is bad. No this is beyond bad. The director and Hargrove are working together in this world? As if one wasn’t bad enough, but both of them? He struggles to remember details of both of them coming woefully short, but he knows deep down that this isn’t good news to anybody let alone-

Wash. Is he working for them? Is he part of this somehow? His mind races as he scans the other pictures on the wall. Fuck, he doesn’t know what to think about all of this. PFL doesn’t seem to work outside the law by the look of the records hanging in front of him, but Tucker knows better. These two has always have issues with staying inside the lines that much he remembers. 

His gaze is drawn to an article with his name on. He steps closer only to read about a time where this version of him and Church had answered a call and come face to face with an unidentified man who proceeded to attack them. He had shot him dozens of times before he had finally stopped. The paper never states the name of the attacker, but Tucker has a good idea on who it is by the description.

“Bald, mute and nearly 7 feet tall.” 

So, Maine had been here as well, Tucker muses as he backs away his head spinning. If Maine had been here it means the freelancers are also here. Beyond that, these freelancers seem to be on another level entirely.

The room fills with light from the sunrise as Tucker makes sure to take pictures of the entire wall just in case he will need it later. He slips out of the office and rushes down the stairs before he runs into someone who actually knows him. Well, this version of him, he corrects himself as he exits the building. 

His head swims with the information he has gathered and he does not feel like walking back to that stuffy apartment of his. Instead he lets his feet lead him as he pulls his jacket tighter against him. The sky promises rain but he doesn’t care all that much. He likes the rain. Ever since that one night on Chorus when they had been interrupted by sudden rainfall he hasn’t minded the rain that much anymore. He suspects it has something to do with the way Wash’s face lit up as the first drops of rain hit his cheeks and accompanied the freckles that were already dancing along to his laugh. 

He finds himself in a park. He sits down on a bench illuminated by the sunlight and leans back enjoying its warmth. The park is quiet except for a few mothers with their children on the playground nearby. A man is throwing a frisbee and his dog keeps chasing it. It seems so picturesque and yet his mind races a thousand miles an hour as he attempts to figure out what he should do next. 

He looks at the dog playing in the park as he wonders if he can get a dog when he gets back. Wash might like dogs, he ponders wishing he had any idea on what he’s supposed to be doing to get back. 

He feels a woman sit next to him but he doesn’t think anything of it. She’s small and wearing a hooded jacket as a protection against the incoming rain. Her sidecut hangs deep over her eye and he’s unable to make out what she looks like. She doesn’t seem like anything unusual though, like a mother watching her child play on the playground right next to him. 

Junior swims to the forefront of his thoughts as he feels the pang of guilt stab his heart as he looks at the dog jumping after the frisbee. Maybe Junior would like a pet. What he wouldn’t give to give him a hug right now. Maybe he could come over when it’s peaceful, maybe he could introduce him to Wash. He feels Wash would like it. 

As the first drops of rain speckles the path in front of him he feels the woman leave. The dog’s owner calls the dog to him and they too start to leave. He should as well, he thinks but doesn’t move. He looks to see where the woman went, only to find that she has left a plastic bag behind her. He stands up and tries to find the woman but could not see where she had gone. How had she moved so quickly?

He grasps the bag in his hand and looks inside to see if she had left anything he can use to identify her. The only thing in the bag is a thick folder with a sticky note on the cover. “To Detective Tucker” had been written down in neat handwriting. 

“The fuck?” He whispers trying to see if there is anybody around him or if the woman is still around but finds nothing. 

The folder is clearly meant for him, which means the woman knew him and knew she’d find him here. That’s beyond unsettling, he thinks to himself as a shiver races up his spine. He needs to figure out what to do. He hasn’t been killed, yet, so someone had just wanted to give him this folder. 

The rain continues to pick up speed as he decides that he’s going to read what’s inside of the mysterious folder. He isn’t the type to back away from a mystery like this. No way he could take this shit home, god only knows what’s inside of it. It might be something incriminating he thinks as he steers his step towards the coffee shop he had spotted on his way here. This time of day it will be quiet and near empty. A perfect place to read a mysterious file left on his bench like if they are in a movie. If he wasn’t so worried he might find this utterly cool. 

He sits down in a booth as far from any prying eyes as possible. That isn’t that hard considering that there are exactly two customers and the barista present. A warm cup of coffee steams on the table as he pulls the file out of its bag. His name glares at him as the sticky note seems too vibrantly colored. 

“Let’s see your secrets then.” He mutters softly to himself as opening the file. 

It is nearly four hours later that he emerges from the folder. Time has flown by as he read page after incriminating page detailing the abuse and illegal and outright immoral experimentation that goes on at PFL. His coffee is stale beside him as he looks up at the world to see if it had changed since he had last looked. He feels like it must’ve, no way something this dark didn’t leave its mark. But the only thing he sees is a bunch of moms chatting by the window with their toddlers. The afternoon light colors everything with golden tones. 

He pays little to no attention to his surroundings on his walk back to his apartment. The ramifications of PFL and the existence of freelancers sticks to him no matter how he tries to get rid of it. Vague memories of things Wash had told him way back on Chorus rings in his ears and he tries to stop himself visualizing them but failing spectacularly. He feels sick. 

He stops with his key inside his door feeling odd. He feels weird but he has no idea on what it is that is making him feel that way. After a moment he shrugs it off, blaming it on the things he read today or the meds he is on. 

From the moment he steps into his apartment he knows he should’ve listened to himself. He can’t see or hear anything out of the ordinary but the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. The door closes behind him with a soft click. Somethings very wrong. He contemplates just turning around and making a break for it but before he can make up his mind he hears him.

“Step away from the door unless you want me to blow your head off.”

The growl comes from deeper within his apartment but he can hear that this is for real. As he hesitates he hears him release the safety.

“I won’t tell you again.” 

Tucker steps into the dim light that pours from the windows only to be face to face with him. Wash stands quietly as if he’s made of stone holding a pistol pointed at him. There is nothing that reminds him of the Wash he knows as he stares into his eyes that lack any emotion or warmth. This Wash is a killer and will not hesitate to pull the trigger if he needs to. Tuckers blood chills in his veins. 

“Hey now there’s no need for that-“ Tucker can hear how his voice trembles despite his best attempt to hide his fear. He can see Wash smile in the darkness, a sight he’s sure will be with him for a long time. 

“I feel like there’s a lot of need for this detective.” Wash spits out his title at him with such venom it takes him back. “Don’t you think? Not after you’ve killed my partner and then tried to ambush me in that alley two days ago?”

Wash jabs the gun at him and Tucker finds himself frozen to the ground. He wants to argue but he can’t, he doesn’t know what transpired before he had been zapped to this world. Into this fucking mess. 

“Look I didn’t-“

“I don’t want to hear it!” Wash’s eyes glimpse as the dim light hits them. Tucker feels the pure rage and sorrow pulsing from him. He has learned that the combination of those two emotions seldom led to anything good. “I am not here for excuses.”

He sees the decision is made and he feels the sudden rush of panic as he sees Wash pull the trigger. 

Getting shot isn’t anything that it was in the movies he thinks as he glances down to see if he was hit. He wasn’t blasted back, he wasn’t falling over. He stands there in the dark and cold apartment staring at the growing stain on his shirt. It didn’t hurt. Not really. He misses his armor. His armor would’ve protected him, healed him, held him together. Wash had been bleeding like this as well. Had he been this cold?

He finds himself on his knees without any recollection on how he had gotten there. His fingers touch the stain as he tries to process this. Wash had shot him. Wash. 

He stood over him looking down at him with contempt. The gun was still pointed at him but his finger wasn’t on the trigger. 

“This isn’t real” He sputters looking back down at his chest. It’s starting to burn now. “This wasn’t supposed to be how this went.”

“How did you think this was going to end detective?” Wash’s voice is mocking as he kneels in front of him. “After all you’ve done? This isn’t a movie. This wasn’t going to end any other way. I wasn’t going to come here and after your heroic speech confess my dying love for you.”

Tucker silence seems to alert him. He stops, looks at him and then he can see how the laugh shakes his entire body. Tucker swears he can feel the blood gushing out of him, the lightheadedness starting to blur the edges of his vision. This is how I die, he thinks as his head is filled with the almost manic laughter that fills his apartment. He is never getting home again. 

“Oh god detective! Really? You actually thought that I love you?” 

This time the roar of the whiteness feels like a blessing instead of a curse. Tucker smiles as he hears it tumble toward him. Wash is frozen in front of him and he can see that this version of Wash had been nothing like he had seen before. This Wash had been littered with scars and the color of his skin was less human than it was corpse. For a moment, he forgets everything else and feels sorry for him. For them, for all of the freelancers. And he feels sorry for himself. This version of him wouldn’t survive this wound, he could feel it in his bones as well as in the echo of the giant hole in his chest that had ripped him into pieces and still restricts his movements even in the white light. 

The relief of being alive only lasted for so long before the worry started to burrow into his mind. He is alive at the moment but he has no control over where he will land or in what situation. Most importantly almost dying hadn’t reset the loop and sent him back home. He would be in square one yet again. And the memories of this Wash staring at him with no humanity in his eyes clings onto him and he knows that they’re there to stay.


	5. Chapter Four

His hands clasp his chest as he lands, even though he knows he will not find anything. The bullet wound that had almost killed him had left no marks, his hands are clean and his chest is intact. Yet he swears he can feel the impact it had, he gasps for air filling his hungry lungs. 

As he breathes his surroundings become clearer. He’s indoors, the air inside smelling of sweat and rubber but he swallows it down like it is the freshest air to ever exist. His hands grasp the slippery fabric of his loose tank top trying to reassure his brain that the danger had passed and that he and his chest are okay.

“Coach Tucker? Are you all right?” 

His attention snap to the source of the question and to his shock he finds himself standing in front of a group of middle schoolers. The boy in front looks at him timidly, his hands holding a dodge ball close to him. The children around him look at him like he’s grown another head.

“I-“ The answer sounds breathless even though his lungs are filled with air. He shakes his head and releases his grip on his shirt lowering his hands down to wipe the sweat of them. He clears his throat. “I’m fine just got something in my windpipe. Where were we?”

“You were about to start the dodge ball.” A small boy in the back answered him looking like he is fed up with the delay. The other kids nod with him. 

“Oh yeah, well get back to your positions and I’ll blow the whistle.” 

The kids scatter like marbles on the kitchen floor when Caboose stumbled and dropped his collection. He and Wash had spent hours collecting them but they still found rogue marbles to weeks later- 

He shakes that memory to the side knowing it'll only bring more confusion and a headache later on. He whistles to start the match. He stands to the side and watches the kids play trying to focus on this moment right now and not at the mountain of worries he seems to collect everywhere he goes. 

He remembers playing dodge ball with Junior when they had been together before his school started. None of these kids are 8 feet tall aliens with a mean throwing arm so he dodges the rogue balls easily. As the match progresses he finds himself increasingly engrossed in the teams and the game. 

The bell rings to signify the end of the class and he follows the kids down to the locker rooms finding as he suspected the coaches’ offices. Making sure that the kids got changed and go on their way to their next lessons he leans against the wall trying to pass the time without thinking about anything that will give him a headache. Much to his dismay there isn’t a lot of those subjects anymore. The fluorescent lighting hurts his eyes, the light too reminiscent of the whiteness that seemed to chase him throughout universes.

The last kid hurries past him and he wanders inside his office closing the door behind him. It’s a small space but he doesn’t mind. The chair at his desk is not very comfortable but he sinks into it like it is the most comfortable chair in the entire universe. He rubs his eyes trying shake the weight of the things he has seen. He is tired. Not only physically but also emotionally. How many times must he watch and relive all of these things? Hadn’t this been enough? All the death, all the times he’s been so happy only to watch it all get ripped away from his grasp.

He lets out a sigh that carries the weight of a thousand lifetimes as he looks around him. A timetable by his monitor tells him that he’s got his next lesson in an hour. Much to his dismay this Tucker hasn’t been all that keen on writing down things so he spends that hour trying to figure out what he is supposed to be have them do. 

“But you said it was basketball this week!” The boy standing in front of him whines as he tells the class that they’re playing dodge ball. He had run out of time and had decided to go with what he knows. 

“Things change. It’s dodge ball or running outside in the rain this week.” He says drowning in the groans of his students. He watches them shuffle along, some of them excited but some of them like this is the last thing they wanted to do. After a while these kids get into the game and he has to break apart a few scuffles. Finally the bell rings and they’re off to lunch. 

Tucker drags his feet as he wanders the empty halls towards the noise of the cafeteria. He is starving but after hearing Donuts voice coming from the arts room he passed by he’s unsure if he wants to eat. The likelihood that the school is populated with his friends had skyrocketed and he knows that if Donut is here the likelihood of Wash also being here is enormous. He feels beyond exhausted. The thought of getting close to Wash, if this Wash is friendly and not out to kill him, only to have that ripped away from him hurt like a thousand knives. Yet the thought of Wash brings him a weird comfort, a comfort not even attempted murder had managed to erase.

A door opens by his side taking him by surprise as he moves to the side to let the person inside exit the room. He watches as the teacher struggles with his keys, coffee and a huge pile of papers. The sign by the door the teacher just had entered through tells him that it's the guidance councilor. Just as he’s about to continue on his way he sees all the papers go flying around the corridor. He drops to his knees helping the guidance counselor pick his papers.

“Come on why now- Oh Tucker. Hi!” 

He looks up at Wash kneeling beside him. He’s younger and wears glasses but it’s Wash alright. His freckles seem magnified under his lenses and a wide smile lights his face up as he looks at Tucker. Tucker freezes with his papers in his hands just looking at Wash. He feels so tired, like he is holding the entire universe together at the seams and he just wants to run and to never look back but it’s Wash. And yet the pull is there, nailing him to the ground, to this situation and he doesn't seem to be able to move. Wash's looking at him like he’s the thing that lights up his days, his smile so warm and inviting but he’s so exhausted.

“I- um I need to go!” 

The look of hurt and confusion that flash through Wash’s face slice his heart in half as he drops the papers and turns around to run back the way he came from. He doesn’t look back, he doesn’t turn he just runs down corridors and up floors until he barges into the furthest classroom he can find and throws the door shut behind him. 

He can’t breathe. The way Wash’s face had twisted in confusion is etched on his eyelids haunting him with every blink of his eyes. His lungs ache and he swears he feels the bullet that had ripped him apart rattle inside of him, banging against his ribs.

“Dude what the fuck is wrong with you?” 

Tucker whips up to look at the person talking finding Grif sprawled on chairs in the back of the class eating a candy bar. His feet are propped on desks and he looks utterly unimpressed. 

“Grif?” 

“I said what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Can- you be a bit more specific?” 

“Well it’s not like we haven’t talked about you just barging into my classroom like you’re escaping a heard of wild elephants. And also because Simmons sent me a text that he ran into a very snappy Wash in the teachers’ lounge and knowing you, it’s probably because of something you did.”

“I-“

This feels so familiar he thinks as he slumps into one of the chairs at the front of the class. He can’t remember why it feels so familiar, so safe to sit with Grif away from the others. He feels like he should remember but the memories are so hazy and faraway.

He feels deflated. Snappy Wash meant he’s actually hurt and that realization hits him harder than Caboose trying to hug him. He had hurt Wash. 

The memories blur together in his head and he struggles to find the words to explain this. To justify this. Wash had looked so warm and happy when he had shot him- no wait that isn’t right. Wash had been happy here as he was happily surprised to see him. In that shitty apartment where his hands had made him shiver. On Chorus where lingering touches turned into bone crushing hugs to heated kisses in dimmed hallways. 

From that moment when they had crash landed at Chorus he has known that this was it. From the way his smile made his heart sing to the way his touch burned his skin. He had vowed to never hurt him. Yet here he sits with Grif munching on his candy bar with that judgmental look he excelled at. 

“I just couldn’t be near him. I saw him and bolted.” He confesses with a glance at Grif who snorts at him. He waves around his candy bar.

“What? Dude you’ve been flirting and pining over him for months. It’s so obvious that even Wash has picked up on that.”

“Really?” He asks trying to seem casual but doesn’t quite succeed judging by the look Grif gives him. He’s looking at him like he’s a bit slow. 

“Yeah. Simmons and I have a betting pool on when you hook up. It’s obvious as dicks dude.”

He sinks further into the chair as the music room falls silent. Grif taps his feet along to some tune he can’t hear as he sighs. This was a mess. He’s torn between the need for Wash and the fear of that moment when it all is going to be pulled away from him. 

“I don’t know what to do.” He says so quietly that he’s not sure if Grif heard him. He stares at his own hands trying to grasp on to something real. Nothing is real but at the same time everything is and was. This isn’t his Wash but he’s growing increasingly afraid that he isn’t going to get his Wash back. He’s not sure if he even remembers his Wash. Maybe he’s already forgotten. Maybe this is all that he has to look forward to. A brief possibility of happiness and joy before it all crumbles around him. An endless coin toss if he’s going to get a Wash he recognizes or a Wash that’s a stranger to him. His chest hurts but atleast he knows this universe's Wash seemed to like him.

“What do you mean?” Grif answers after a while. Tucker can see out of the corner of his eye that Grif is looking straight at him. His tangerine sweater clashes with the walls.

“I mean I want to be with him but I’m so tired. I know how this’ll end and I’m not sure if I can take it anymore-“

“No offence but that’s absolute bullshit. You should talk with him, not even just for your own sake but for the sake of us others. Wash is a pain when he’s mad and or sad. And I can’t deal with you moping around the halls.”

Grif rises from his chair and Tucker watches him walk around the room straightening the desks as he goes. The clock ticks on the wall and the chairs scrape against the floor. Grif moves methodically like he has done this for years before he finally sits down at this desk in the front of the class. Tucker turns around, resting his arm on the backrest looking at Grif who looks uninterested. 

“But-“

“But what. Are you really going to spend this life moping and avoiding Wash? That’s bullshit. Be a man and talk to him.”

Grif looks at him with a raised eyebrow as if to dare him to argue. Tucker finds himself at a lack of words. He stares at him trying to come up with a rebuttal. 

“You know I hate you right?”

“I hate you more.” 

Grif’s reply echoes after him as he walks down the hallway. A stream of students fill the halls and Tucker lets himself be swept away with it. He walks in silence smiling at the kids who greet him as he walks by. Grif words have yet again sorted some of the mess inside his head which he is grateful for. 

He grabs lunch from the cafeteria before heading back to his office. He has one more lesson for today and then he is going to march back to Wash’s office and apologize to him for acting like a dick earlier. 

He feels excited as he chaises the rogue balls around the gym. The kids are tired and not in the mood for dodge ball but he makes up for it with his energy. Grif’s words energize him. He isn’t going to live in the what ifs, and maybes. This is his life now, he might as well live and learn. He has a plan. 

The loop resets when Wash says those three words. The solution is so easy Tucker scolds himself for not figuring it out earlier. He’s just going to tell him not to say those words. Easy. If he doesn’t say those words there’s no resetting this loop leaving him free to enjoy himself and live this life at the fullest. He doesn’t even remember what he would be returning to if he somehow escaped the loop. All his memories are fraying at the edges and blending together. All he knows that the reset means a coin toss between Wash and his evil clone. This Wash is warm and loving and super hot with those glasses and he knows this is as good as it’s going to get. 

This confidence carries him to the end of the lesson and he hurries the kids along. When the last one leaves the locker room he darts into the closest bathroom, to change out of his workout clothes and check that he doesn’t look like shit. 

He’s younger he realizes with a jolt. His face looks smooth and unbroken, the scars he expected are gone. His eyes are bright and lively and lit up by a smile. He looks good, he thinks smoothing over his hair before dashing out. 

The hallways are long and emptying as he walks against the stream of kids heading home for the day. His step is light and his smile masks the seed of nervousness that’s rooting itself into his chest. He spots Grif walk with Simmons towards the doors and waves his goodbyes. Grif gives him a thumbs up before they exit the building. 

The door to Wash’s office is closed when he arrives. He smooths his shirt and clears his throat. He shouldn’t be this nervous he thinks as he knocks. It’s not like this is going to end worse than it already had in previous lives. 

“Mr. Washington left already.” Tucker turns around to see a short girl stand beside him. She’s grasping onto her backpack and looks at him. “He left at lunch.”

“Oh.” He tries to ignore the way his stomach drops. “Oh okay.”

“He looked really sad.” Her voice is quiet but sharp around the edges. Way to guilt trip me, he thinks as he looks away from the girl. “I don’t like when he’s sad. He should be happy.”

“I think so too.” He answers her. “I’ll just be off then. You need any help getting home?”

“No Coach Tucker. See you tomorrow.”

“See ya.”

He stands and looks as she walks away. Great, now even children are lecturing me, he thinks rubbing his face trying to think what he should do next. If he knew where he lived he could maybe convince him to talk to him. He looks around the empty hallway. All the other doors were closed, except for the principal’s office-

The principal would know, he thinks as he walks towards it. They had to have some kind of register or something. He pushes the door open and the secretary is nowhere to be seen. The lights are off except for in the principal’s inner office. He rounds the secretary’s desk navigating towards the light and the noise coming from inside. It sounds like there’s two women inside, he realizes as he knocks. He hears some kind of commotion inside and the voices fall silent, before he hears one of them call him in. 

He opens the door and enters the small office space. Kimball is sitting in her chair looking flustered. Tucker realizes it’s Carolina who’s leaning against Kimball’s desk with a grin on her face. She looks out of place, he thinks, looking her over trying to figure what it is that bothers him. Maybe it’s the turquoise shirt that clashes against her blonde hair. Something about her pokes at his memories, but he can't name what it is. He looks back at Kimball and then to Carolina when the situation he walked into dawns to him.

“Oooh. Don’t want to interrupt whatever’s going on here ladies-“

“What’s the matter coach Tucker?” Kimball clears her voice while straightening the pens on her desk. “Coach Carolina and I were just talking about- the curriculum.”

“Oh I’m sure it was the ‘curriculum’” he answers drawing large air quotes around the word trying to contain his shit eating grin. “I’ll let you get back to it in a moment, I just need Wash’s address.”

“What do you need it for?” Carolina asks him.

“Umm, he left something of his at the school that he needs tonight so I need to get that to him.”

“Right.” 

Tucker knows Carolina sees right through him. He holds his breath. This is it, make or break. Carolina stares him down until she finally shrugs and takes her phone out. With a few quick taps he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket.

“There. Behave Coach Tucker.” She says with what he could swear was a wink. He thanks them and slips away from the room hurrying to get out of earshot before they resumed their ‘discussion’. He grabs his jacket on his way out and checks his phone. Thank god, he has GPS, he thinks as he slips into the car and types in the address. 

The drive isn’t that long. Tucker can’t focus on his surroundings as his mind is too busy rehearsing what he’s going to say when he finally arrives. The trees he drive by sway in the wind. It’s going to rain, he thinks as he pulls into the parking lot of an apartment building. 

The wind is cold as he rushes through the parking lot and into the stairway. He hears the sounds of life from behind the doors he walks by as he rises floor after floor until he’s out of stairs and stands in front of the door labeled Washington. The rain speckles the window at the end of the hallway as Tucker knocks.

He holds his breath as he hears the footsteps behind the door. He tries to be causal as he hears the footsteps stop by the door and then there’s nothing but silence. His own heartbeat hammer in his ears as he shifts his weight waiting if the door will open. 

It feels like it’s an eternity before it does. Wash peeks out of the crack at him, his face in the shadows. Tucker smiles sheepishly at him.

“Can I come in? Please?”

Tucker feels almost naked, and not the good kind of naked, as Wash looks at him. He opens the door open for him and he walks past him into his apartment. The hallway’s long and dark and feels familiar but he can’t quite place it. His eyes keep strafing to the wall but there’s nothing there. The door clicks behind him as he pulls off his jacket and hangs it by the door. 

He looks down at his feet to be greeted by a grey cat with piercing yellow eyes. The cat stares at him for a moment before resuming his way to his legs and rubs against him. Wash looks at them from the distance.

“This is Sky” He says, his voice soft despite his posture broadcasting his discomfort.

“She’s beautiful” Tucker says leaning down to scratch her and is rewarded with a purr. “She’s so friendly.”

“It’s weird, she’s not usually this friendly with new people.”

They fall silent. Tucker busies himself with the cat for a few moments more before rising back up and looking at Wash. He is silent as he leans against the wall with his hands crossed.

“Look Wash, I’m sorry about today.” He starts realizing immediately that he’s forgotten everything he had rehearsed. “I don’t know what got into me- I just got so scared for a moment there and I didn’t know what to do.” 

Wash looks at him his face blank of emotions but he could see that he's listening to his every word. 

“I’m sorry. I’ve been flirting with you for so long and when you seemed so happy to see me I just got scared. Of the possibility of hurting you or getting hurt. I realized later that that doesn’t matter. The fact is that you make my day so much better, even if I only see you from a distance. The fact that you’re smoking hot is an added bonus.”

That earns him a small smile that lights up Wash’s face. He swears that smile could light up the world on its own. 

“So if I haven’t ruined everything I’d like a chance to be with you. I’d like to try and see what could become of this thing between us. You know, if that’s cool with you?”

Wash is silent for a moment as Tucker waits for the verdict. His heart feels like it’s halfway up his throat. Wash’s gaze is softer than it was previously which might be a good sign. Sky leans against his shin like a heavy anchor keeping him from floating away. The world seems so saturated around him. 

Wash takes two strides ahead and brings his face to his, pressing his lips against his with force. His lips are soft and warm against him as he kisses him back tiptoeing to get closer to him. Wash’s lips move against his with practiced ease making his mind blank of everything else and his heart so light it might float away from his body. His hands tangle into his hair pulling him closer the hunger of missed opportunities and past heartbreaks making him desperate to cling onto what he has right here and now. 

His breathing is heavy as he lets go, pressing his forehead against his. Wash’s eyes are closed the freckles around them as shadows in the low light. His glasses magnify some of them and warps those at the edges. Tucker could look at this man for years and still find new details. His eyelashes flutter as he presses a small kiss on the tip of his nose and he smiles. 

“Is that a yes?” He asks him as he watches him open his eyes and look at him. He swears he can see right into his soul as they stand there embracing each other. 

“Yeah.” Wash whispers pressing a kiss against his lips. “But I feel like we need to discuss things first.”

He nods and untangles himself from Wash as much as he doesn’t want to. He knows there’s a ton of things to discuss but he just wants to kiss and to do dirty things with this man. Wash pushes his glasses up as he leads the way to the lit kitchen. Tucker sits down at the table and watches Wash pull out two water bottles from the fridge.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to drink anything stronger with the fact that tomorrows still a work day.” Wash says sheepishly as he hands him his bottle before sitting down.

“How strange” Tucker says with a wink taking a sip. “I would love to see you giving advice to a kid hammered.”

“I rather not.”

“Buzzkill.”

“Smartass.”

They laugh and for a moment Tucker feels so happy he might burst. How this day had changed. He thought he had lost his chance at feeling happy again but here he is laughing with Wash with their entire future still wide open for them to decide on.

“So before we get any further there’s an issue I need to talk about” Tucker says after they settle down. Wash looks at him with such focus he thinks he might break under his gaze. “It’s gonna sound so weird.”

“Try me.”

“Okay so I have a thing with those three words. Don’t say them!” He interjects as he sees Wash open his mouth. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I don’t want you to say those words to me.”

Wash looks puzzled and- hurt?

“Oh no! I don’t mean you can’t feel that! It’s just that those words have been- poisoned for me. I can’t hear them without getting hurt or sad or something.”

“Oh I get it. So you don’t want me to say those specific words because it will harm you? So it’s like a trigger.” 

“Yeah! The feeling behind it doesn’t matter, it’s just those words that I can’t handle.” He smiles sheepishly at Wash who takes his hand in his. His hand is so warm and soft in his and makes his heart sing. “You okay with that?”

“Of course I am. There’s a million ways to say those words and a million languages.”

Tucker is speechless as he looks at this man sitting opposite of him with the kindest smile on his face and such understanding in his voice that it feels like he’s sitting with the human embodiment of kindness. He leans across the table to capture his lips with his, words failing him to voice his gratitude. He feels Wash’s smile against his lips.

“You’re amazing.” Wash just smiles at his rebuttal but Tucker can see his blush color his cheeks and highlight his freckles. “Anything you want to add?”

“Nothing of that caliber. I just think that we shouldn’t rush this.” Wash answers. Tucker agrees with him on the taking things slow. He is in no hurry to rush this. “And not make a big deal of it at the school, Carolina’s going to tease me mercilessly if she finds out.”

“About that…” Wash terrified look makes him laugh. “She might know. I asked her your address. But I also have blackmail material so you’re gonna be fine.”

“What?”

“I interrupted her and Kimball at a private meeting in Kimball’s office. They were apparently discussing the ‘curriculum’.”

“Oh my god.” Wash stares blankly at the wall beside them before he bursts into laughter. “This is going to make my life so much easier. She doesn’t have much shame. It’s still the best weapon I’ve had against her and I’ve known her since we were kids.”

They talk easily and before they know it it’s late. The sun sets behind the window and Tucker must head home to eat and sleep before tomorrow’s work. He finds it incredibly difficult to let go of Wash as he lingers in the hallway with his fingers in his shirt and his lips against his. He’s sure he’s never going to get tired of this man. 

“Go.” Wash laughs after the third time he turns around to give one more kiss. Tucker feigns hurt as he presses one more kiss before jogging down the stairs. He looks up when he gets to the parking lot only to see Wash standing on his balcony looking at him with a wide smile on his face. He smiles back before hopping into his car and following the cheery voice of the GPS back to his place. He can’t and doesn’t want to wipe the smile of his face. Maybe things are looking up this time around.

\---

It takes Tucker weeks to convince Wash that it’s alright for people to see them talk in the hallways. Wash had been pretending to not see or know Tucker every time they crossed paths in the corridors, only to later appear in his office to steal kisses from him. Not that he minds, no there isn’t anything else he rather does than presses himself against Wash, letting all his senses be engulfed by him but it is getting a bit suspicious. 

The hushed meetings in both their offices doesn’t stop after Tucker convinces Wash to act normally and not like a total creep. Tucker knows Wash’s schedule to the minute so it isn’t difficult to sneak in when he’s away and then pounce on him as soon as he walks through the door. 

“Stop it-“ Wash whispers only partially meaning it as Tucker presses another kiss against his neck. He’s sitting on his desk in his office with Tucker between his legs pressing kisses where ever he can reach. Wash is flustered, the heat of his blush only making Tucker more adamant on kissing him.

“Why should I?” He hums against his throat. Wash had wrapped his arms around him from the beginning and seems to not want to let go. Tuckers hands roam above his collared shirt feeling his heart beat against his hand.

“Someone could see.” Wash hisses in his ear and a shiver runs down his spine. He marks that down for later. 

“That just makes it more exciting.” 

The bell rings in the hallway outside Wash’s door and they hear the regular stampede of students switching classrooms. Wash has a lesson next and much to Tuckers dismay he lets him down from the desk. He smooths over the wrinkles on his shirt he caused and presses a quick goodbye kiss before slipping out of the office and into the stream of students wandering the halls. 

“Good afternoon Coach Tucker.” 

He glances to his side to see Carolina walk beside him. She shortens her step to fall into the same pace as him. Judging by the smug smile on her face she knows what he has been up to.

“Good afternoon Coach Carolina.” He answers keeping his gaze forward. She’s taller than her and her blonde ponytail swing as she keeps pace with him.

“Enjoying your afternoon?” 

“Very much so.” He sees her smile widen out of the corner of his eye. “You? Had any meetings with the principal as of late?”

“I’m enjoying my day immensely thank you very much. The principal is a great discussion partner.” 

“I’m happy for you.” He answers holding the door open for her. She seems happy and he’s sincere in his answer. Carolina had begun to beam with happiness since that night he had seen her with Kimball. Having a happy Carolina also makes his life easier when he doesn’t have to constantly console children she’s yelled at in P.E. 

“Same. Wash seems a lot less wound up as of late.” Carolina glances at him with a uncertainty in her eyes. 

“Oh.” He can’t think of anything to say to her. He isn’t used to this level of intimacy with her. She looks as out of place and uncomfortable as he feels like. 

“So- thanks, I guess. He really deserves to be happy.” Carolina says as she leans against her office door. She’s sincere he realizes.

“No problem. He’s an amazing guy.”

“That he is.” Carolina's smile is genuine as she slips into her office closing the door behind her. 

Their promises to take things slow crumble one late Friday night a week later on their way back from a dinner at their favorite place in town. Tucker had teased Wash with his feet under the table until he finally cracked and asked for the receipt halfway through the night. Tucker hadn’t even tried to conceal his smugness on the way home to Wash’s and made sure to continue on his chosen path during the car ride home almost causing them to crash twice.

Wash fumbles with his keys as Tucker presses him against his back, his hands running up and down his chest. He hears Wash’s heartbeat race against his cheek as Wash seems to focus more on the hands on him than his keys.

“I’ll fuck you until you can’t remember your own name. I’ll do it right here so the neighbors can watch if you don’t get that door open” He whispers in the dark hallway letting his hand linger on Wash’s crotch. He feels him twitch under his arm, and feels the low moan rumble in his chest. 

His jacket hits the floor as soon as the door opens. He pushes Wash ahead of him, slamming the door behind him. Wash’s lips are parted as he throws his shirt over his head, his eyes dark with lust. Tuckers hands grasp his hips pulling him closer leaning in to capture his lips with his own. He bites his lower lip earning a low growl that fuels his hunger. Wash tastes so sweet and he’s hungry to taste all of him.

Wash grasps the collar of his shirt pulling him with him as he backs into the bedroom. Tucker follows him his eyes lidded and his need apparent and straining. Wash’s hair is already messy driving him insane thinking about how good he’ll look on his knees with his cock in his mouth. He attaches himself against Wash as they enter the bedroom. 

The noises escaping from Wash’s mouth are sinful and Tucker hangs on to every syllable. He pulls away to get rid of Wash’s shirt pulling it over his head. Not wasting a second he dips down and makes his mission to lick and kiss and cherish every single inch of his skin. The light that seeped through the curtains painted his skin in blueish light making his muscles stand out in the darkness. His hands explore his torso as he wraps his lips around his left nipple twirling his fingers around the right.

Wash groans and sends a jolt of electricity through Tucker as he sucks harder. Wash’s hand finds his way to his hair. With every tug he feels himself moan, his throat vibrating against Wash’s chest. He let’s go of his nipple with a lick, careful not to overwork Wash. He licks his lips and watches Wash’s eyes darken as he pushes him further until he feels him hit the edge of the bed. He tumbles after him attaching himself to his mouth as Wash’s hands grip his ass tightly. 

He pulls his shirt of and tosses somewhere into the darkness. He catches Wash looking at him admiring his chest. Wash’s hands roam his chest as he grinds down on him feeling his excitement. Wash’s eyes close as he tries to move against him but Tucker holds him down. He moves down slowly peeling away his jeans and shoes until Wash is completely naked underneath him. He stops for a moment to memorize this sight, of him blushing and illuminated by that soft light from the dusk outside.

He moves quickly to get his own remainder of clothes of and into the growing pile on the floor before crawling back over Wash. Wash grabs his hair and pulls him down hungry for him. Tucker reaches down to stroke him slowly watching his face broadcast his pleasure. His eyes are closed, his mouth open and gasping as he wraps his hand around him. He grows harder with every noise that slips out of his mouth. They mix with his own pant filling the room with sounds of pleasure. 

“You like that huh?” He asks ghosting his thumb over Wash’s tip, and watches as the shiver of pleasure rushes through him. His hands tangle up in the sheets and in the pillow as he tries to hold on to any sense he has left. Wash seems to have lost his words as his answers just moans. Tucker leans over to pepper his neck with kisses, nibbling and licking and driving Wash utterly mad with pleasure. 

“I-“Wash’s words are breathless and Tucker slows down to tease him further. 

“What is it babe?” He whispers in his ear and listens to those sweet moans that he gets as an answer.

“I want you-“ His request is cut short by a loud moan as Tucker kiss the top of his cock. “Please Tucker. Fuck me!”

There is no way he could ever refuse Wash as he looks and sounds so delicious. Sprawled on the bed both his lips and cock pink and wet with pleasure, his hands tangled in the sheets and the sweat shining in the moonlight. 

“Do you have-“

“Top drawer on the left.”

Tucker leans over and moves quickly to gather what he needs. He lets go of Wash and feels him groan at the loss of contact. He moves back over and watches Wash climb on his elbows to get a better look at him. He leans over to taste his lips. He slips in his lubed finger into Wash and eats his moan of pleasure in his kiss. He feels the moan vibrate his chest as he curls his finger working his way in and out. 

Wash breaks for air as he inserts a second digit and his moan mix with his pleas for him to be quicker. By the time the third finger slips in Wash is beyond words. Tucker curls his fingers and strokes his prostate. He feels like his cock is going to burst as he watches Wash writhe under him an endless stream of moans and whines escaping his mouth.

Tucker extracts his fingers, finally rolls his condom on and lubes it. He looks at Wash looking at him. Tucker can barely contain himself as he sees how Wash’s stomach is wet with precum, his hole gaping for him and his lips parted as he pants.

“You still wanna do this?”

“Just fuck me already.”

His groan rips through his throat as he enters slowly inch by inch. Wash throws his head back at the pillow his moans mixing with hisses. It takes all of his self-control not to just bury himself into his tight warmness. He feels himself bottom out and holds as still as possible to let Wash adjust to his girth. He twitches inside of him as he looks at how his lips are parted and his hands are almost ripping the sheets apart. He feels him pulse around him taking all of him. 

He starts out slow as he gets consent from Wash. He watches him shiver underneath him as he pulls out and listens to how he almost howls when he pushes himself back. He’s lost in the sounds and the sensation of Wash around him pulsating and tightening. He picks up speed and drowns in their collective moans and groans. Wash repeats his name as if an anchor to reality to keep himself here as he continues to hit his spot repeatedly and without mercy. 

He can tell that he’s near the edge and leans down to grasp his cock in his hand. Within a few firm strokes Wash comes all over Tuckers hand and his own stomach gasping for air in his climax. Tucker rides him out as he shivers at how Wash contracts around him and after a few strokes he’s spilling into Wash. 

“Oh my god.” Wash gasps from underneath him as he descends from his ecstasy collapsing on top of Wash. He tries to catch his breath as Wash’s hand strokes his hair. He rolls over after he’s breathing close to normal and ties and chucks his condom into the trash. He clutches a used towel from the floor and cleans Wash off with it before slumping down on his chest.

Tucker listens to Wash’s steadying breathing as he rests his head against his chest. Wash’s fingers trace shapes and patterns on his back as they lie there in the darkness slowly steadying their breaths. The room smells like sex and they’re both sleek with sweat but there’s no rush to do anything. Their feet tangle together as Wash pulls Tucker closer tilting his head up to meet him in a kiss. There’s no hurry or rush with this one, this kiss is tender and soft and lingering. 

“What’s bothering you?” Wash asks a while later. 

“That obvious?” 

“You do this tapping thing with your hand-” He grasps his hand in his, drawing lazy circles in his palm as he tries to find the words. “-when you’re upset. You know you can talk to me, right?”

“Yeah it’s just that-“ He sighs watching Wash’s fingers move against his palm. “This is just so- I don’t know, perfect?”

“It’s pretty perfect.” Wash says watching him frown at his hand. 

“And you’re amazing of course but-“

“Go on.” Wash’s voice is encouraging instead of accusing and he just can’t deal with how welcoming and kind this man is, holding him here and he’s filled with the dread of tomorrow. If he lets this go on for much longer he’s going to shatter when it ends. Previous times were bad, this one is too much. He feels like he needs Wash to breathe and to think and the dread and fear inside eat him every second he keeps lying to himself that he can do this. 

“I need you to say those words. Those words we talked about. Not the English ones, I want you to say them in another language.”

“I don’t want to do anything to hurt you Tucker.”

“I need to check this Wash. I need to know if it works.” A part of him clings on to the hope that the change of language might do the trick. He wants it to. He’s desperate to be with Wash who supports and loves him and live without the fear of those words slipping out. Tucker clings onto that hope. If he says it to himself enough maybe it’ll be true. 

“Tucker I-“

“Please Wash.” Tucker sits up and takes Wash’s hand in his. He knows he cannot refuse him if he asks like this, he knows this might be the end. He clings on to that sliver of hope as he squeezes Wash’s hand in his, trying to comfort him as well as memorize the feel of it if this backfire. His eyes roam Wash’s face, mapping it out and memorizing it, just in case. 

Wash looks at him. His eyes are serious and looking right through him trying to figure this out. Tucker feels the hope mix with the fear in his stomach and he feels like he’s going to be sick. This’ll work, he repeats to himself. This’ll work and he gets to stay here in this world, in this bed, with this Wash forever. He’ll be free of the fear of that white noise, of that force ripping him apart and away from this world at a second’s notice. 

Wash sighs and sits up straighter. Tucker’s heart can’t bear much longer. 

Time slows down as he watches Wash’s lips move and he hears those two words. For a second there’s nothing. Tucker looks at Wash who looks at him like he’s ready to catch him. The hope inside him swell, his chest bursting with the joy before he hears it. 

His breath escapes him as if he was hit by a car, his hope crashing inside him. His emotions feel like bricks inside him as he looks at Wash and his freckled face, those worry lines etched into his forehead and those gorgeous eyes looking at him with such concern and love. He feels how his tears fall as he refuses to look away as the roar gets near and starts to dissolve this reality. Not again. He can’t do this again. He refuses to do this again. 

He falls to his knees as he lands, letting the grief swallow him whole as his voice fill the space he’s in with his pain. He still feels Wash’s hand in his, he feels the warmth and he sobs as he curls into himself. This feels worse than dying and he wows that this is it. No more. He’s done. He can’t even remember why he keeps trying anymore. 

Surely this is a fate worse than death.


	6. Chapter Five

Time is made of circles. As much as he couldn’t comprehend Caboose back then he thinks he understands now. The floor underneath him is dark wood and stained with the salty residue of his pain. Time is made of circles. Endless loops, endless turning and twisting. Of fucking course it’s a circle. 

His hand rests in front of his face yet he cannot focus on it. It’s right there but still so blurry and out of focus. He feels empty. Time is circles and he is nothing. The floor underneath him is cold and the tick of the clock drives a knife to the back of his scull with every tick that reminds him that his struggles are pointless. Why should he get up? He’ll only run into Wash in the next room and suffer until he cannot suffer anymore before getting sent back to the beginning again. Rinse and repeat. The small window of clarity, of remembering the previous loops ache inside him like a raging ocean. At this point he just wishes to forget.

Why bother. 

The light from outside casts a shadow across the room he is in, drawing a perfect circle. The circles keep mocking him and he closes his eyes. Fucking circles. Maybe he’ll just stop existing if he closes his eyes.

The floor underneath him is the same and the shadows are too as he opens his eyes. He did not stop existing much to his annoyance. The floor is still cold and he is still empty and the world is still made of circles. 

He didn’t want to die like this. This room is suffocating him with its circles and the tick of that godawful clock and the morning rush hour traffic outside his room. 

“Get a fucking grip.” The room echo with the sound of his own voice. He’s pathetic lying here on the floor whining and moaning about how unfair he’s being treated. 

His muscles complain as he hauls himself up, leaning against the kitchen island standing right beside him. The apartment he’s in is miserable he realizes as he looks around. It’s empty of almost all furniture as if someone was moving in or out. 

A small ding interrupts him and he swirls around to look at the source, a computer by the sink. He wanders over and clicks open the email that he had just received.

_“Hey Tucker, found you that cabin you wanted. It’s in the middle of the park, miles away from trails and even further from people. Just nature and wildlife. It’s in bad shape though, requires massive amounts of work to make it last the winter. Call me if you want it or drop by the park if you’re in the area. Still think you’re absolutely crazy for this idea. -C”_

He reads the message twice trying to piece it all together. He digs through his computer files and finds plans and shopping lists and other documents that at first glance seemed crazy. Now he’s reading them like they are sacred. 

It doesn’t take him long to print out the documents and loot his apartment for the remainder of things inside it. He’s all aboard this crazy idea, and he couldn’t be more pleased. He’s going to fix this cabin and he’s going to live in it, away from all of this shit, away from people and away from the possibility of running into Wash. He’s done with being pushed around my faith or karma or whatever it is that keeps throwing him around like he’s a mindless puppet. No more, he is taking faith into his own hands. 

The drive to the park isn’t that long and the GPS guides him to the park entrance with no hassle. He slows down and carefully avoids most of the bumps on the terrain as he heads for the park ranger’s office. He parks his car at the nondescript wooden lodge only a few hundred feet from the entrance to the state park. 

He sits for a while, pondering if this is the right decision before turning the car off and getting his backpacks from the trunk. He hauls them with him to the lodge and knocks on the door before entering. 

“Tucker!” Carolina sounds surprised as she sees him. She looks like he remembers, but he isn’t sure how well that lined up with reality whatever that even meant anymore. Her bright red hair is in a pony and her lime green top clashed with it. “Didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

“You snooze you lose.” he shrugs with a practiced ease. Truth be told he couldn’t stand being in that apartment for a second longer. 

“True. So, are you absolutely sure of this?” 

“Yeah.” He answers. “I’ve done my research and I have my equipment with me. And if I need it, I can always come back.”

Carolina nods carefully as she looks at the backpacks he’s carrying with him. 

“Okay. Let’s go.”

The hike is long and uncomfortable. Carolina strides along with her long legs as he stumbles behind trying to keep up. Carolina isn’t very chatty, he realizes an hour in as he stares at the back of her head. The forest around them is breathing alongside the wind, the leaves rustle and mix with the sound of his labored breathing and her flawless step.

They leave the main trail three hours into the hike. After that the terrain is hard to navigate and he’s cut to pieces after the third bush they walk through. Carolina has still to break sweat. Luckily for him they reach the cabin as they hit the five-hour mark. 

The cabin is situated between the slope of the nearby mountain range and the lake they walked around. Carolina had not been lying when she had said it is in bad shape. The cabin is small, but even from this distance Tucker saw how much work would go into making this a year-round cabin. The varnish coating the house is in need to be replaced, the windows need to be cleaned and the roof needs to be cleaned and patched. And that’s just the things he could see on the outside. 

“Still up for it?” Carolina asks him as they climb up the creaky stairs to the porch which also needs some loving care. Tucker looks around him, first at the cabin and then at the view. The lake glimmers in the afternoon sun and a pair of swans’ glide past them. A breeze flows through the forest around them and he cannot hear anything else than nature and its wonders. He feels excitement rumble inside him.

“Absolutely.”

Carolina doesn’t stay for a long time as she needs to head back before it gets dark. Tucker watches her leave from his porch, enjoying the silence and the sun. He knows he’s going to be busy fixing this house but excitement and wonder fill him. This cabin is his to fix. Something that he can leave behind. He’s going to live in peace here, with no worries about heartbreak. The decision to leave everything else behind hadn’t been easier to make, and standing here he feels even more confident. This house and this forest would become his home, his life, and his norm. To be honest, he cannot even remember what it had been earlier, only vague memories of death and eyes smiling at him behind glasses as he dies haunt him in the middle of the night. 

\---

It’s surprisingly easy for him to slip into a routine. The first days he spends unpacking and cleaning the interior. He starts his days with coffee, then does tasks from his master to-do list until the sun goes down. Every other day he chops firewood, every other he goes for a long swim in the lake. He eats when he’s hungry and after the third day he throws away his watch as he has no need for it anymore. He feels happy and at ease again. Here the days are filled with physical work that leave little to no room for moping. His mind still wanders but he finds that happening less and less as the days go by. 

He doesn't realize when he forgets. 

Every day he sits outside in the darkness and talks to Carolina on the radio she left for him for daily check-ins and for emergencies. He likes these talks. As much as he likes the silence, he feels like he’s going to go crazy if he doesn’t talk to someone in a few days.

“Yo Carolina!” The radio crackles in his hand one morning about three weeks into his stay at the cabin. He stands in front of the lake burying his feet into the warm sand underneath him. The sun shines in his eyes as he watches the swan couple float on the still surface. The radio is silent in his hand as he tries again. “Carolina, you better not have forgotten me.”

The radio is quiet. Tucker checks that it’s not busted but doesn’t find anything to explain the silence. He tries to think if he had made Carolina mad, but can’t recall anything special. The radio crackles.

“Hello?” 

The voice on the other side is not Carolina. The radio distorts the voices to some extent but not like this. The man who spoke had a low and gravelly voice, a voice he hadn’t heard before. The man on the other side of the radio stays silent as Tucker stares at the radio as if he could somehow see through it and to the other side.

“Who the fuck are you?” He finally asks pacing on the shore. 

“Who are you?” He stares at the radio. Who the fuck did this guy think he is, coming over here and not answering his questions. 

“Dude I asked you first.”

“You’re talking in an official channel of the forest rangers so I’m the one asking the question.” The answer was short and snappy, and made Tucker dislike the new guy immediately. He sounds so uptight, he thinks kicking a pebble to the lake.

“It’s Tucker. Lavernius Tucker. And you’re not Carolina.” 

“Oh. Tucker. Right. You’re the one Carolina mentioned.” The guy seems to relax a bit. Who did he think it was, some rogue arsonist? Tucker shakes his head as he looks over the lake at the far distance where this new guy is posted.

“Where is she?”

“She had to go take care of her father.” Tucker frowns. He doesn’t know why but he dislikes her going to see her father. He has no memories of her or her father but he’s uncomfortable with the idea of her being with him. Must be intuition, he muses. “I’m filling in for her.”

“So, you’re my contact to the outer world. Awesome.” The breeze by the lake is cold and he wraps his arms around him as he strolls towards the cabin. Now that the guy lost the stick in his ass he’s more interested in hearing from him. Carolina’s jokes were atrocious. 

“I’m here for your daily check-ins and emergencies. Are you having one now?” He frowns at the curt answer. Guess the stick wasn’t gone after all. 

“No, just a bit lonely.” He says sitting down by the cabin stairs. He brushes the sand from his pants. “So, how are you?”

The radio is silent for a long time. A breeze rustles the trees outside his cabin as he sits with his radio in his hand, crackling with silence.

“Emergencies only Tucker. Have a good day.”

He feels rejected as he lays the radio down beside him as he stares out over the lake. The mystery man in sitting miles in that direction, in that crammed office. He wonders if he’s looking this way as well. 

It’s well into the evening when he rises up and drags himself back inside with his radio in his hand. He already missed Carolina and her awful jokes and her genuine surprise that he hadn’t killed him yet. Well she can’t be out for forever. 

He picks up the radio again the next morning. He brings his cup of coffee outside sitting down on the stairs. Today he needed to remove the paint of the window sills and sand them down. He isn’t in a rush, but wants to get that done before it rains. The sky is clear and the sunrise gives the nature an almost magical filter. The radio crackles in his hand.

“Good morning mystery ranger. What a beautiful day it is today.” 

He sips his coffee. The radio is silent as he suspected it would be. The swan couple is floating by the cabin again. He smiles. The radio crackles.

“Good morning. I see you’re not dead yet. I’ll be hearing from you tomorrow then.”

The radio falls silent next to him as he finishes his coffee. He had sounded tired. Tucker caught himself wondering if the new guy had slept well before he realized he really shouldn't care. This man’s sleeping schedule isn’t his worry, he’s a grown man. Tucker stands up and stretches. If the new guy was going to be like this then fine. 

His day is uneventful and filled with paint chip and sawdust. He reckons he’s inhaled an entire tree by the time he’s finished. The windows reflection shows that he’s completely covered in the dust and he decides to take a break. The radio that accompanied him with the only station he gets signal from plays an old country song as he strips naked and wades into the lake to clean himself. 

The water is warm and he’s tired so he floats by the shore for a while, just looking at the clouds that roll by trying to see shapes in them. One of them looks like a car named after a cat, but he can’t quite grasp the name of it. Why would a car be named after a cat?

The sun hides behind the car-cloud and he shivers at the sudden lack of warmth. With a sigh, he climbs back up to dry and to continue with the first coat of varnish on the window sills. He’s making much quicker progress than he had thought. 

His arms are sore the next morning as he rolls of the bed with a groan that shakes the foundation of the house. Should’ve stretched, he thinks shambling towards the coffee maker. He picks up the radio as he waits for the coffee to be done. 

“Mornin’. Still alive and kicking.”

“Good to hear that. One of the rangers brought the items you requested to the end of the trail this morning so be sure to pick them up.”

“Sure thing.” 

The radio falls silent as Tucker stares out of the window looking at the lake trying to figure out why he feels so disappointed every time he hears the silence. The coffee drips the pan behind him as the smell of the varnish linger in the house. 

After he downs the coffee he heads of to the trail. It’s still early enough for it to be cooler in the forest making it a more enjoyable hike. He follows the curve of the lake and steps on the narrow path that had already formed. 

His mind wanders as his boots hit the earth. He keeps thinking about the new guy, about his voice but he still cannot say that he remembers ever hearing it before. He thinks about the way he feels empty when he signs off, about the way his mind often wanders to think about him. Who is this guy?

He thinks about Carolina as well. She had been his contact for those two first weeks and had been an immense help to him in those days. She had not only just helped him carry all the heavy stuff to the cabin but had also been a great listener. He could imagine her sitting outside her tiny office, drinking wine and looking at the stars as they had spent so many nights. He would be wrapped in his blanket on the stairs, and she would be wrapped in her lime green blanket. There is something wrong with that color, but as hard as he tries to figure it out the answer evades his grasp. 

He hops over the fallen tree that signifies that he’s getting close to the trail. Carolina is away visiting her father, which makes Tucker extremely uncomfortable. He had never met the guy, nor had he even heard about him and yet the hairs at the back of his head stood up at the mere thought of him. 

He steps out of the forest and onto the path where he finds the locked box the rangers use. He opens the lock and picks up the backpack and the cans of varnish he asked for before heading back into the forest and back to his cabin still lost deep inside his thoughts. 

He finds himself sitting outside late that night. Even though his body felt like falling asleep right here and now his mind couldn’t slow down. He runs through his to-do list but finds nothing he missed or that can’t be done tomorrow. And yet here he is awake as ever. 

He strokes the side of the radio wondering if he should just try to talk. Something keeps stopping him every time he gets close to the button. He looks over the lake wondering if the guy is even awake.

“You awake?” He finally says into the radio.

The radio is silent in his hands and he looks up at the stars twinkling in the sky without a care in the world. A breeze makes its way through the forest around him and he shivers inside his blanket. The guy is probably asleep. It’s probably way past midnight anyways. 

“Yeah.” The answer crackle in the air. Tucker looks over the lake at the distance. Somewhere there the new guy’s having trouble sleeping. “Can’t sleep?”

“My heads too crowded.” Tucker answers. “Can’t make it shut down. You?”

The radio is silent for a long time. Tucker yawns.

“Nightmares.” 

He didn’t expect an answer, let alone an honest one. The tiredness was conveyed through the radio and Tucker doesn’t know what to say. ¨

“It’s this same one every time.” The new guy continued. Even his voice seems surprised he’s saying these things. “There’s this little girl- in a field and as hard as I run to try to catch her I can’t-“

The sigh echoes in the dead silence of the night. The radio is silent yet again. 

“I have this one where whatever I do, my partner dies in my hands. It’s a battle of sorts- but it’s weird. Like not on this planet or something. But he dies every time, no matter what.” Tucker doesn’t know what prompted him to share that with this new ranger he barely even knows. Something about the night and the darkness it brings with it makes him more open with himself. “The thing is that I feel like I should remember something to save him, and I can’t. Honestly, I can’t even remember who it is I’m saving or even what they look like.”

“I’m sorry.” He sounds truly sorry. Tucker doesn’t know what to say. 

“It is what it is.” 

The radio falls silent with the weight of those words still hanging in the air. 

“You should head to bed.” 

“As should you.” Tucker answers as he stands up. Somehow, he knows he won’t, no matter how many times he could ask, the new guy wouldn’t sleep. He doesn’t want to question how he knows that. 

“Until tomorrow.” The answer crackles in his hand echoing a promise that warms his heart. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Tucker spends his next week fixing the roof of the house. It’s not in bad shape but the pure size of the roof makes the simplest tasks take forever. He’s exhausted by nightfall but he stays up anyways, talking on the radio with the new guy. Tucker still hadn’t gotten an answer when he asks for his name. 

“It’s not important” Is the answer he gets every time he asks and for some reason that doesn’t bother him as much as he feels like it should. The name isn’t important, the voice is. Tucker looks forward to the evenings when he can just sit and talk. The new guy is a great listener but he also seems like the guy who’s done a lot of listening in his life. That’s why he lets him do most of the talking, even though at the start it was like interrogating a brick wall. 

He learns that the guy is former marine, now back stateside. He knows Carolina from childhood and got this job through her. He likes it here, the nature and the quiet seem to help him cope. He doesn’t say it but Tucker gets the feeling he’s not quite as alright as he claims to be. Tucker also gets the feeling that he’s as lonely as he is, both of them always eager to talk in the darkness. 

It’s usually Tucker who talks first. At first, he thought it was a bit strange and a twinge of hurt that stemmed from the feeling of being unwanted settled inside of him. Then he realized that was just the way the guy seemed to function. 

This is why Tucker is startled as the radio crackles inside his cabin when he’s working on the railing of the patio one sunny day. He’s never at the receiving end of the first call, and it’s around noon; way too early for their nightly discussion and they already his check-in. He lays the hammer down by the railing and makes his way inside.

“Tucker are you there?”

He picks up the radio from its charger and heads for the kitchen to get water. 

“I’m here. Sorry I was outside. What’s up?”

“Are you busy?” The answer comes over immediately. 

“Depends?”

“Someone called in that there’s no firewood at the campsite west of you and all the rangers are well over a day away. If you’re not too busy could you head down there with an axe and chop some?”

“Sure, no problems.” He answers while throwing together what he needed for the trip. “You know I’m suspecting that you’re just out to make me buff if you keep up with these errands.”

“I’m sure that’s not necessary.”

He’s right. Tucker noticed it himself a month into this endeavor as he passed the mirror in the bathroom after a shower. The manual labor and the healthy foods had had their effects on him. His body had become leaner and he could see his muscles clear as day. No workout at the gym had this effect. 

“Oh my god, was that an honest compliment?” He teases as he locks up the door behind him and starts his trek towards the campsite three miles west from him. It’s not a long walk but it is hot outside. A plan starts to form in his head.

“It’s so hot in here, I better take my shirt off so I don’t sweat right through it.” He says innocently into the radio. He had started to flirt with the guy a few nights ago, and he decides to try to push his luck a bit further today.

“Not sure why you had to inform me of that.” Tucker doesn’t hear an objection from him so he keeps going. There’s nothing else to do here anyways. Besides, he has to admit he’s spent a lot of time thinking about the guy and his velvety voice.

“Just wanted to keep you up to date to my whereabouts as I’m doing your errands. Completely free of charge as well.” He maintains a singsong throughout his sentence, and can almost feel the blush from the other side.

“Thanks.” The answer is short and concise and he wasn’t wrong about the blush. This is going to be so much fun. 

He walks for a few moments more, letting the guy get lulled into a false sense of security. The path to the campsite is winding, and he climbs over more fallen trees than ever before. He’s panting by the fourth one.

“Oh wow it’s harder than I thought to get through here” He pants into the radio, purposefully pausing after harder. The radio is silent and he chuckles as he crosses through a crack running between two small cliffs. The air is cooler here and he pauses to catch his breath and rest in the shade.

“How hard is it?” 

The answer stops Tucker in his tracks. Did he just flirt back? Did the guy sound a bit breathless or was it the radio messing with him? He stares at the radio trying to think what he should say. He could go down this path and see where it leads. It’s been ages he’s flirted with someone, and he has to admit that there has been growing tension between them during those nightly calls. 

“So hard.” He answers him his heart pounding in his chest. The prospect of this happening, whatever it may be is making him excited. He looks around him, finding nothing and nobody as he expected. He’s alone here, with a radio and what might’ve been an invitation.

“What are you going to do about it?” Comes the now obviously breathless reply.

Oh it was an invitation alright he thinks as he leans back against the stone. This is happening. He feels the excitement pool in his stomach as he lets his hand wander down his stomach until it teases the edge of his underwear. 

“I might need to take things into my own hands.” He answers bringing his radio closer to his mouth as he leans against the cold and rough surface. 

“I wish I was there to help you.” the guy answers him and the crackle of the radio only heightens his senses. “I could take my hands and run them down your body tracing every inch of it until you shiver underneath me.”

“I would lick and suck and bite your neck until you growl in my ear. I would make sure you’d be marked as mine.” He continues and Tucker melts underneath his words. "I’d suck on your nipples, licking them mercilessly, teasing with my teeth as I play with you pushed against a wall making you beg for more-“

His hand’s roaming now, pinching his nipples as he listens to the radio. He bites his lip, his breathing labored and his erection pressing against his shorts.

“- and I’ll be happy to comply, biting down on the tenderness licking and kissing it before moving to the other side as you beg me to fuck you.”

“God I’m so fucking hard.” He moans into the radio, his eyes closed and his cock rock-hard as he imagines the sensation of teeth against his sensitive nipples. His knees shake as he shivers. 

“I’d free your dick letting it rub against my leg as I pin you with my kisses making you unable to move unless I say so.”

“Oh god.” His hand grasps his cock freeing it from his pants. He’s so hard, the precum leaking on his hand as he pants. “You feel so good.”

“I flip you around and grind against your ass, letting you feel how hard I am. You stick your ass out at me, begging me to fill you up.” 

He’s lost in the sensation his hand stroking his dick as all he can hear is the voice on the radio, the breathless and sinful words that seep into his ears. He’s moaning, his moan echoing against the rocks and trees back at him as if there’s another person here with him watching him. The prospect makes him moan harder. 

“Oh fuck yes. Please fuck me!”

“I stick my finger up you, feeling your warmth and tightness around my finger as you moan. I curl my finger, watching you shiver as I stroke you.” He hears the noises from the other side of the radio, that slick noise that matches his own pace. “You cry out as I insert another and then another stretching you wide and ready for my cock.”

“Oh yeah, fuck me hard with your cock, fuck me until I can’t remember my own name.”

“I push in, and you groan as I fill you to the brim. You look so good, sweaty and filled with me as you grind down, begging for more.”

His thumbs the tip of his cock and gasps at the tenderness. He’s so close already, his movement frantic and filled with need. The noises coming from the radio tells him the other side isn’t fairing much better.

“I grind down on your massive cock-“ Tucker moans into the radio taking control for once. “-You’re stretching me so good babe as you pound into me over and over again, hitting me just right, making me weak. You grab me by the hair pulling my head back as I tighten around your cock. You growl making me harder. I’m under your control, taking it deep and fast.”

He feels the tightening in his stomach as he cums with a shout allover his hand and shorts. He rides the high as he hears the grunts over the radio. He tries to catch his breath as he pants suddenly more aware of his surroundings. The forest seems too quiet after all that noise and pleasure. The radio is silent in his hand as he leans down to grab a tree leaf to clean himself with. 

“Oh my god that was good.” He chuckles into the radio as he wipes the last bit of his cum from his shorts. 

“Yeah. You were amazing.” The answer is breathy and light and makes him smile as he picks his backpack back up and heads west. 

“I think you’re the star but I’ll take the compliments.” 

“Of course you will.” 

Tucker laughs as he ducks under another fallen tree and wonders if he’ll ever be able to think of something else than what had just happened when he sees another fallen tree.

They continue their nightly discussions, but after that time in the woods most of them turn sexual at some point. Tucker’s not complaining, he’s more sated than he has been in years but he does miss the physical intimacy. More than once he brings it up to the guy on the other side of the radio only to hear his own thoughts echo back at him.

So when his mind wanders that early evening as he stands leaning over the railing he’s not surprised he finds himself thinking about the guy on the other side of the radio, on the other side of the lake. There was a time when all he wished for was to have Carolina back, but now that she’s actually returning after the funeral of her father all he could feel is dread and disappointment. The guy had mentioned that he needed to go check on family so he would leave soon. 

Tucker sighed looking at the swan couple drift by. If it only was as simple as they have it, he thought wistfully. It’s coming up to almost a year in this cabin he realizes as he looks back at it. He had been busy, it’s all fixed up and ready to be lived in for years. Yet it feels empty, he thinks as he looks back at the lake and looks at the distance where he knows the guy is. 

It’s only been under a year, and Tucker still feels so connected to this guy, and he doesn’t even know his name. The only thing he knew for certain is that he feels awful at the prospect of him leaving. He hadn’t accounted for this, he thinks as he turns for the house.

Well at least it isn’t like it was last time, he thinks with a frown. Truth be told he doesn’t remember much, only that it was a person he knew from before and that he meant the restart of the loop. Nowadays it’s rare that he thinks about that, as time went on that memory seems so far away. He doesn’t even remember what it is that triggers the restart, he knows he should but all he can remember is this place and these people and the nightmares of a blond man trying to kill him. He feels the dread pool in his stomach. 

The wind rustles the leaves as he reaches for the door handle but before he can reach it he hears louder rustling coming from close to the house. He feels his stomach drop.

“Hey.”

Tucker swirls around at the sound of that voice he’s listened to for months now. Except it’s not distorted by the radio, no there’s a man standing by his stairs. Tucker feels like the world opens up underneath him as he stares into those familiar eyes and that golden hair that’s tousled by the hike and those freckles shining with sweat in the evening light. It's like he's swept away with a sudden rush of clarity. Memories flood him and he feels like he's falling again.

“This is not real.” The words escape his mouth as he falls to his knees. The memories of the loops flush into his mind like the angry roar of the white light and he’s flooded with all the pain he’s forgotten. This isn’t happening. He isn’t here. All of this is a dream, wake up Tucker! Wake the fuck up! No matter how he yells at himself or begs for mercy the man standing only a few feet away from him doesn’t disappear. Tucker can’t breathe. He cannot keep his head from falling to touch the patio. Here he is, yet again on the floor unable to breathe because of him. 

“Are you alright?” 

Tucker watches him take a step forward before stopping at the sight of his hand. He cannot do this. Not again. No. This isn’t fair. He feels the shock turn into anger as he snaps his head up to look at Wash.

“Why didn’t you tell me your name?” His voice cracks with his barely contained anger. “Why didn’t you?!”

Wash takes a step back at the sight of his anger his eyes widening with confusion. Tucker feels the rage burn inside him swallowing him whole. How did he dare stand there like nothing was wrong, like he isn’t here to rip Tucker apart yet again.

“Why does that matter?” 

“Nothing matters more than that!” Tuckers yelling now. He can feel the strain in his throat, burning with the rage inside of him. 

He’s on his feet again, his fists tightly clenched. He isn’t going to do this again. No matter what, he isn’t going back. Enough is enough. 

“Why are you acting like this Tucker? I thought that-“ Wash takes a step back. Tucker cannot focus on anything else than that fearful look on his face, like he’s the monster here. The sound of his blood rushing in his veins render him deaf as he points at Wash.

“You thought wrong! Why is it always about you! Why are you doing this to me!”

“Tucker please-“ 

“No fuck you! Fuck the universe, fuck whoever’s watching! Fuck you!” His arms flail around him as he shouts at the sky and at everybody who’s listening. He means every word he screams. The come from his heart, ripping him apart as much as they destroy his voice reducing it to a broken mess. 

“Tucker just calm down-“

“I fucking won’t! This has gone on for too long! I’m done. I fucking swear I’m done! No more!”

“Tucker- Why-“

“Because it’s you! It’s always you! No matter what I do or where I go, you’re there! And it hurts so much!”

“Tucker I don’t understand-“

“Of course, you don’t! But I do! I remember now! And _I_ love you!” 

He hears the rumble yet again but this time it’s closer. This is new. He feels like he cannot move, he cannot breathe and all is nothing and nothings everything. 

Wash’s face is frozen with shock. Its illuminated by the white light but the light isn’t coming from the horizon as it usually does. He looks down to see the light burst through his chest, like he’s cut open and everything inside him spills out with the light. His head is thrown back by the sheer force of the light as it burns the universe and him as he gasps for air. The inside of his mind is scrambled by the white noise and the trapped scream as he seizes to exist. All that exists is the light and the pain of a trapped scream echoing in his head until he cannot hear anything more.


	7. Chapter Six

He floats in eternity. The pain doesn’t go away but he learns to live with it. The whiteness is overpowering and he cannot escape it even by closing his eyes. It hurts and it burns and he floats. At the back of his mind he hears someone yelling but it’s too far away and it hurts too much to reach for it. He manages the pain.

He wants to cry as the noise split his head open and exposes him to the universe. The yelling gets closer but he cannot reach it yet. It is too bright and it is too painful. He cannot manage.

Bone by bone he feels himself snap under the pressure of the universe and the pain doesn’t stop. He screams and screams and yet no sound come out as he snaps apart. By the second he feels himself tire, he wants to give up and disintegrate into pieces. The yelling is close but he is tired. He doesn’t manage. 

He feels himself melt in the brightness. The burning doesn’t stop but there’s no more screaming. His voice is gone, all that’s left is the yelling that’s so close and he tries to hold on to it to hear it but it’s so hard and he’s so tiny and alone-

“-Cker! Tuc-“

The yelling is so close all he has to do is to lean in and grasp it and yet he hesitates. What if it’s a trick, what if he’s already dead. And yet the yelling is so distraught and in pain he doesn’t know if it’s his voice echoing his pain back to him. To mock him. To bait him. He’s scared.

“Come on Tuc-“ 

The yelling is so loud and so close and he can almost feel the wind and smell the fresh rain and he’s so tired and so alone. He reaches out as he feels his mind start to melt away-

He gasps his lungs burning and hacking inside him as he tumbles down. Gravity pulls him down and he cannot breathe and he falls down to meet the stone slabs underneath him. He cannot move his limbs and he gasps after air as he tumbles- into someone’s arms? 

“Tucker!” The yelling is so near and he see lights and grey armor and he cannot breathe. He feels like he’s underwater as he claws at his helmet. “Tucker I got you! You’re safe, Tucker look at me!” 

He cannot find the hatch to his helmet, his fingers clumsy and not used to armor after all these years and he paws his helmet gasping. All he can see is the helmet and the encompassing greyness and fingers reaching to his helmet to unclasp it. 

As his helmet is being pulled away he gasps at the fresh unfiltered air hitting his lungs. He coughs and he rolls over to his hands and knees hacking and coughing. He feels the burning and tearing inside him as oxygen feels so foreign to his lungs. 

“Tucker are you alright?” A hand is on his back helping him stay upright. Why are his limbs so heavy, he wonders as he spits out blood. The grey tiles are speckled red now and he can’t stop staring at it. The hand on his back grasp him tighter. “You, go wake Dr. Grey up! Now!”

He reels as his brain catches up with him. He swirls to look at the person beside him. He can see his face reflected in the visor, his wide-open eyes and the blood that stains his lips. He’s so thin, when had he become this thin?

“Tucker it’s alright it’s me. I got you.” 

He tries to speak but no sound comes out. He looks like a terrified fish he realizes as he reaches to unfasten the others helmet. His fingers are weak and he cannot reach but he gets his point across as grey fingers unclasp the helmet and throw it to join his. 

He cannot stop the tears rolling down his eyes as his fingers roam Wash’s face, they trace the golden hair and the freckles that frame his eyes. He draws the scar that crosses his cheek from that time when he had been hit during the project. He cannot see glasses or anger hidden in his eyes, only worry and fright. He realizes he’s sobbing. 

“Wsh-“ His voice cracks and is barely above a whisper. He tears his throat apart for that one word. It’s Wash. The real Wash. Here, with him holding him close. He barely hears the rush of footsteps from behind him, all he sees is Wash and the faint worried smile that crosses his face as he looks at him.

“Yeah it’s me. I got you.” 

Those words play on repeat as he feels himself getting tired. Wash looks panicked as he slumps against him. He’s got me, he thinks as he falls under. He’s got me.

The emptiness is dark and cold and he doesn’t mind. After all the light, he feels himself drift in the darkness, in the vast openness of his mind. His breathing echo inside him as he sprawls himself across the vastness, resting for the first time in forever. 

_“-you sure he’s alright? I mean it’s been days-“_

The voices don’t disturb him as he rests. There’s no gravity here he realizes as he curls into himself. The voices continue to ebb and flow through him, reassuring him in a way he cannot explain.

_“-this alien stuff is just so unpre-“_

He thinks of Junior. He recalls those sunny gulch days and those windy days at the embassy where the trees were all weird shapes and not really trees. He remembers Juniors laugh, it echoes in his vastness engulfing him in a familiar comfort.

_“-you heard how he kept screaming-“_

He cannot get comfortable in his sleep, the voices sound closer now. He tries to hang on to that openness, the floating but they slip from his fingers. 

_“-the psychological side effects are a mystery-“_

He opens his eyes and stares at the white tiled ceiling. It’s dim and silent where he is and he feels stiff and sore. The constant beeping beside him almost lull him back to sleep but the warm hand in his keeps him anchors him back to his bed. Not that he could move anyway, he feels like he’s been run over with an entire planet. 

Wash’s head rests against the bed beside him. He looks at his figure move with every breath, feeling at peace with the constant movement. His hair is still golden. He traces the grey stripes that litter his hair with his gaze. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up. He’s been burned too many times. 

The world feels so small. He looks around the room, feeling enclosed in the small space. It’s dim too, not too sharp either. The noises and the smells seem fainter. It feels like it’s all toned down. He feels like he’s too bright and too sharp to exist here among the dull colors of the night, like his soul is branded and marked.

Maybe this is the real deal, he thinks as he looks at Wash’s sleeping form. Maybe there’s no need to feel the panic that’s bubbling underneath the surface. Maybe this isn’t a trap. Maybe his punishment is to feel this out of place in the very place he should feel like home. His breath is trapped in his chest, the ghost of a shell rattling inside his ribs. You do not belong here, it seems to whisper to him. 

He reaches his hand to rub his chest, trying to calm the ghosts that stir inside him. His movement alerts Wash, who looks up at him still groggy from his sleep. His eyes are sharp, his breath light as he assesses the danger finding none. His fingers are warm as they tighten around his. 

“Hey.” 

Tucker smiles, not daring to say a word. He does not want to break the illusion. 

“You alright?” Wash asks his glance straying to the machinery that’s behind him. He nods with a small smile. “Good.”

The silence is back. Tucker looks at Wash, his eyes roaming all over his face trying to solve the puzzle. As hard as he tries, he doesn’t find a thing out of place. His hair is still blond, his eyes are sharp and tired but not filled with barely contained rage. The bags under his eyes are dark contrasting against the scars and the freckles. He’s warm and he’s safe, he’s Wash. 

He opens his mouth but winces as pain slices through him. His throat screams at him and he tastes blood. Wash looms over him with water which he gladly sips down.

“Don’t try to speak Tucker.” He says placing the water down again. “Dr. Grey said you would be sore for a week or so with your- injuries.”

Tucker looks at him and sees the hidden worry behind the visible worry. He had scared Wash, he realizes and squeezes his hand tighter. Wash sighs looking away from him but squeezes his hand tighter in his. 

“What do you remember Tucker?” 

He shrugs. He does not want to open this can of worms especially now. Voices and touches echo in his mind as the ghost stir. He shivers. 

“You know you can talk to me, right?” Wash asks. Tucker smiles and points at his throat. Wash rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean smartass.”

He nods at him desperate to talk, to answer him. He looks like a puppy that’s been left in the rain as he sits in the worn and uncomfortable chair beside his bed. He looks old, Tucker thinks as he looks at Wash. His hair is a mess and he looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks. His clothes are wrinkled and baggy. 

Tucker pulls Wash’s hand. He looks confused as he stands up at his pulling. Tucker moves aside in the bed and tugs Wash until he gives in and collapses on the bed. Tucker wraps his hands around him and presses his face into his chest, drinking in the warmth and Wash’s smell. 

Wash stays still for a moment before wrapping his hands around him and presses his face against Tuckers hair. He can feel him breathing against him and for a moment he’s utterly at peace. He snuggles tighter, trying to get as close as possible. 

“I was so scared.” Wash whispers as Tucker is almost asleep again. He stays still against him, his feet entangled in his. “When you stepped into that- thing. You disappeared for a second and I couldn’t breathe. I’ve never been that scared in my life.” 

Tucker places a small kiss on his chest. Wash draws lazy patterns against his skin. 

“Then you came bac into view, extended in the beam like some sort of saint. I could breathe, I could see you. And then you screamed. It was the worst thing I’ve ever and will ever hear. You were silent for a long time, barely breathing with your hands stretched so wide it looked like it must've hurt but once in a while you would scream and that shattered me, because I recognized that scream. I’ve screamed like that.”

Tucker feels the dread drip through him as the implications of Wash’s words seep in. He hadn’t realized that his screams in the white light echoed into this world. He hadn’t meant to hurt Wash and it kills him more than anything in that light. He presses small kisses all over Wash’s chest trying to erase all the hurt he had caused. 

“So-“ Wash’s voice wavers as he places a kiss on the top of his head. “You can talk to me. Believe me, I’ll understand.”

Wash’s words echo in his head as he falls asleep in his arms listening to his steady breathing.

Wash is above him, sneering down at him. He gasps for air but the air escapes him through the hole he had carved into his chest. He rattles and he cries out but all he can hear is the manic laughter and the rage in those beautiful eyes looking down at him and those strong arms holding him and shaking him-

“Tucker!”

He awakes with a jolt as he scrambles away from the figure holding his arms. He falls off the bed but he feels no pain as he scrambles backwards away from those eyes staring at him. He can feel the blood running down his throat as he screams. His back slam against the wall and his legs come up to his chest as he screams over the pain. The figure on his bed hasn’t moved but it keeps saying his name and he cannot understand where he is. 

The lights are turned on and he’s blinded by the white light and for a second he freezes until the world swims back to focus. Dr. Grey stands at the doors in her nightie and the figure on his bed is holding his hands where he can see them. His brain catches up with him as he looks at Wash and his terrified expression and he feels guilt and embarrassment flood his body. 

He shakes as he looks at the two other figures in the room trying to come down from his adrenaline rush as Dr. Grey slowly walks towards him. Wash stays still, still looking at him like he’s trying his hardest to not scare him any further.

“Tucker. It’s alright you’re safe.” Dr. Grey keeps saying to him as she approaches him. She sits down opposite of him, both of them on the floor. “Agent Washington, I think it would be best if you leave us for a moment please.”

For a moment, it’s still and quiet in the room before Wash shuffles off the bed and leaves the room. Tucker sees the hurt in his eyes before he leaves and his heart splinters at the sight. He’s angry at himself for causing Wash pain and he wants to run after him but he’s frozen in the corner of the room. He swears he can feel the edges of the hole in his chest burn with every breath he takes. 

Dr. Grey helps him back to his bed after he’s calmed down and sits with him for a while treating his throat. 

“Nightmares huh?” She asks with a kind smile on her face after a while. He sees she’s no strangers to those as she fusses over the machinery beside him. He nods, now completely aware of the pain not only in his throat but also his lungs. She pats his shoulder with a knowing nod before sitting down.

“I can’t give you anything for those I’m afraid. But I think it would be helpful if you talked to somebody about these nightmares and what’s behind them. It doesn’t have to be me but you know you can come to me, anytime right?”

He feels dread roll inside him. He doesn’t want to talk about this, he doesn’t want to remember and he just wants things to be the way they were before he agreed to this experiment. He wants to erase that image of Wash’s hurt out of his mind, he wants to get rid of the echoes and the ghosts that live inside him now. But he knows they’re here to stay. He wants to throw up. Instead, he nods.

He doesn’t take her up on her offer in the week he’s in the infirmary. He ignores the nightmares and the violent flashbacks and the ghosts that echo inside him and pretends he’s alright. Kimball visits him often, and she sits with Dr. Grey as they try to get as much information out of him as possible. He gives them the absolute minimum, the things they need to hear. He tells him that the temple isn’t anything useful, only a torture machine that extracts what makes you tick and uses that to pull you in deeper until you don’t come out. 

He can see that they’re disappointed that the temple isn’t anything useful for their cause and Tucker can only partially sympathize. He knows that he volunteered but still there’s a seed of contempt that poison his mind as he hears them thank him for his efforts. He knows he’s the one to blame, and he does blame himself the most but he’s mad at Kimball for not putting a stop to it. Nothing good comes out of those types of temples, the ones that are unmarked and buried in the jungle. And yet here he is, plagued with memories he doesn’t know are real or not shivering for hours in the darkness of the night after reliving memories. 

He does learn that he was under for about three weeks and that he hadn’t been breathing during that time. Dr. Grey hammers him with question after question about this but he can’t answer them. He lies awake long after that conversation thinking about that fact, turning it over in his mind trying to figure out what it meant. It did explain why his lungs hurt for the first days and why his throat was so sensitive and yet he was left more puzzled than ever before. What was the purpose of that temple?

The morning Dr. Grey lets him leave the infirmary he takes the long way back to his room. He knows others have already headed for training or patrols this time in the morning and the corridors are empty as he drags his feet after him. His steps echo as he lets his feet take the lead, his mind buzzling with the previous night’s dream. 

Wash had been there yet again, and this time he wasn’t sure what variant he was. He remembers sitting with Wash on a park bench and that he felt so happy to be there. Wash was laughing and his laugh etched into the back of his head. 

He’s confused. He feels heavy and he rubs his chest trying to soothe the rattling of the bullet he knows isn’t really there. That bullet had been sharp and saturated and didn’t belong in this world. This world’s duller and softer and yet it rattles inside him making him sick. He feels like an intruder. 

The door to his room swooshes shut behind him as he freezes to the middle of the room. Dust had been gathering on all the surfaces even though he hadn’t been gone for less than a month. The room is stale and smell of an enclosed room fills his head to the point of bursting. He feels the guilt storm inside him as he looks around, he had been so foolish. He can’t decide if he shouldn’t have agreed to the experiment or if he shouldn’t have come back from the beam, if he should’ve let the beam crush him. Maybe that would’ve been the best solution to all of this, he wouldn’t have caused worry and he wouldn’t be plagued by the hurt in Wash’s eyes that slice him up every night. He wouldn’t have the nightmares where he’s happy with a variant of Wash before he turns and kills him. He wouldn’t wake up every morning feeling confused about where he is, guilty about enjoying the company of a fake variant of Wash and distraught about hurting the real Wash.

He struggles to breathe as he cannot hear anything else than the bullet rattling inside him and see Wash’s hurt eyes as he had left the hospital room. The world is swimming and he feels like he’s drowning as he drops to his knees gasping for air. The bullet tears everything in his chest and he feels shattered and exhausted and he can’t stop hammering his chest with his fist in a vain attempt to make it stop. 

“Tucker?” He stops as he hears Carolinas voice through the door. Her soft knock had got lost in the sounds of his fist. “Can I come in?” 

He doesn’t answer. He shakes as he kneels on the floor, his chest hurting after the abuse. He looks behind him as he hears the soft swooshing of the door opening and then closing. 

Carolina looks unsure as she sits on his bed. She’s out of her armor, looking much smaller in her civilian clothes than Tucker remembered. Her breath is steady and Tucker matches his own to hers as he looks at her examining her hands like they're the most interesting thing in the world. 

“You okay?” She asks after a moment or an eternity passed. She looks at him, and even though he expects to see pity or mockery in her gaze, her eyes are soft and tinted with compassion that he recognizes comes from experience. He doesn’t answer her. 

“From what I gathered from what Vanessa was talking about and how Wash has been acting this week, I’m fairly certain you’re not alright.” She looks away from him staring at the wall that his armor is hanging on. “I can’t say I know what you’re going through but I do have some experience with stuff messing with your head.” 

“After I- lost my AI I struggled.” She continued struggling to say the words. Tucker stood still as he looked at her trying to piece it all together. She looked older as she spun the hair tie on her wrist still only looking at his armor. “It was violent, and I hadn’t the means to process the loss. I had and still have some pretty horrific nightmares about that. I can still hear them scream-“

She stops with a shudder and flicks the hair tie against her skin. The sound fills the room. Tucker can’t stop staring at the hair tie that struck her wrist time after time. He felt like he is going to burst and he can’t stop himself from imploding underneath the memories and the disorientation in this world. He knows this is the real one, this is the real Carolina and yet the seed of doubt lingers in his mind. What if this is another loop and he’s just too far gone to realize it?

“I don’t know what it was.” He says surprising not only Carolina but himself. He looks at his hands that continue to shake like they were trying to detach themselves. “I was stuck in loops. And Wash was there, except it wasn’t Wash. It was always Wash that- he was the constant.”

He shudders and looks over at Carolina. She stopped her distraction and is looking at him, listening and trying to understand. He doesn’t want her to know all of it, but he feels like he’s going to burst if he doesn’t talk to somebody.

“I was happy in most of them.” He confesses, the guilt that plagues his every moment dripping like syrup from every word. He hates himself for having felt happy, his soul aches with the guilt of having enjoyed himself and in a way betraying Wash’s trust in him. “I was happy, and I lived for what felt like years in those endless loops. And I forgot. As time went on I found myself wanting to forget, I was so tired of the struggle I just wanted to rest, to just let myself sink deeper and deeper. To never come out again.”

“But you did.” Carolina's voice is barely above a whisper as she fills the silence that crept in the room. He can’t look at her but he feels her eyes on him. He hates himself for being this pathetic, lying on the floor being a mess. He feels shattered and changed. The Tucker these people knew has been changed, and even he doesn’t know who he is anymore. 

“Tucker look at me.” He looks up at her. She’s moved to the edge of the bed and looks him straight in the eye. “You came back. That’s what matters. Not what happened before that, because none of that was real. This is real and you came back.” 

He opens his mouth to argue but she silences him with a wave of her hand.

“Look I’m not saying you’re the same person you were a month ago. Those things you did and saw there must’ve felt real and for that time they were. But that doesn’t make you a bad person. That doesn’t mean you’re beyond saving. Wash cares for you more than you know. He barely functioned when you were hanging in that light. He almost killed himself trying to pull you out. Nothing you did can make him not care about you.” 

“He did?” 

“Yeah Dr.Grey had to sedate him for a few days to fix the burns he got trying to rip you out of that thing. No matter how much it burned he didn’t let you go before he was unconscious. He loves you Tucker.”

“I can’t.” He says feeling the weight of the universe on him as he hears all the different versions of those words echo in his skull. He can’t escape from them, they haunt his dreams and now even the waking hours. “I can’t be with him.”

“Nonsense. There’s nothing in this world or any world that could keep you two apart from each other except for you two. Get your head out of your ass and talk to him. You’re both hurting and scarred. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Wash is probably going to be the person who’ll understand these scars more than anybody here. Talk to him Tucker.”

It takes him days to get out of his room after that talk with Carolina. Her words echo in his mind mixing with the other ghosts as he struggles to reenter this world. His armor is heavy and loose against him as he tries it on ignoring Dr. Greys strict orders not to. His bed is hard and uncomfortable and the food tastes weird. 

His nightmares continue to haunt him. Night after night he bolts up from his bed screaming. He hears Wash pace in his room that next to his and a few times he hears his footsteps in the corridor outside his door but he stays out and Tucker stays inside. He feels conflicted and disappointed every time he hears him retreat back to his room. He misses Wash and yet he cannot face to seek him out. 

A week after he was released from the infirmary he finally gets the all clear to get back to work. He’s on a strict regimen that’s supposed to help him get back to the shape he was in before all of this. Grif steals half of his extra portions at the mess hall but he doesn’t complain as it’s too much food anyway. He looks around the mess hall during all meals to see if Wash is there but he never sees him there. He tries to hide his disappointment but he knows everybody at his table sees it. 

Wash is nowhere to be seen at training either. He’s pared up with Carolina who goes easy on him at the beginning but by Thursday he’s sure he’s going to die in that training room. He keeps seeing flashes of Carolina among middle schoolers trying to get them to do push ups as she counts his. 

The only time he hears Wash is late at night as he lays in his bed trying to chase the ghosts and echoes away for the night. Then he’ll hear the familiar and soft footsteps in the corridor and the sound of a door closing. He can’t seem to get up from the bed either. Night after night he listens to him get into his room and then hear him pace hours later when they’re both awake after his screams echo in the night. 

It’s Sunday as his feet carry him around the unused corridors and back alleys around Chorus. He avoided Carolina this morning as he knew she is out to find him and make him do extra training. He isn’t in the mood for that this morning so he darted to the back alleys he knew she didn’t know about before she would be at his door. 

It has been over a week since he talked to Carolina and two weeks since he had been returned to this world and even though he found himself getting used to this world again he misses Wash. During his weeks that had felt like years in that energy beam the only constant thing was Wash. He had grown so accustomed to being around him and waking up next to him, feeling him inside him, exploring him with his every sense. Now that Wash is nowhere to be seen he feels empty and cold. 

His path takes him to the outskirts of town where he sits down by an abandoned graveyard. The buildings around him are shattered from bombings and the still standing buildings have been left empty as the citizens of Armonia had fled or died in the battles. It’s peaceful here, he thinks as he leans against a still stubbornly standing tree. 

He had stumbled across this place earlier in the week and at first, he found it very difficult to be here. The rubble and the smell of destroyed buildings reminded him too much of one of the scenarios in the other worlds and he couldn’t stay here for long before he crumbled underneath the flashbacks of Wash dying. 

But as time went on and he found himself here more often he found it got easier with every time. He suspects it’s got something to do with his brain trying to mend itself. Trying to reconcile years of memories from different universes into one mind and brain. Here he found a rare moment of peace and quiet, a place where even the echoes and ghosts settled for a moment. He often wonders if this is something unique to this place or if it would be the same in places that reminds him of the other universes. 

He hears footsteps from where he had walked up from and sees as Wash walks up the path up towards him looking like he’s lost in thought. He’s dressed in civilian clothes, his hair tousled by the wind. His brow is furrowed as he walks until he looks up and sees him. They both freeze, looking at each other. Neither of them had suspected to see each other here, in this far corner of the city where nobody ever goes. Wash looks like a deer in headlights as he turns around.

“Please don’t go.” He meant for his voice to carry more than the breathtaking need and fear he feels. He sees Wash flinch but he stops with his back turned against him. He trembles with the anticipation of him leaving him but he doesn’t. Instead he turns around and looks at him. 

Tucker looks at him, the sun basking his face illuminating his freckles. Wash is hesitant as he stands rigid as a stick waiting for god knows what. Tucker breathes for what feels like the first time in weeks, his body still shaking as he lowers the hand he didn’t know he had extended towards Wash. 

“Tucker-“ Tucker hears the implication of that waver in his voice, that voice that tells him that Wash is hesitant and afraid, a voice trying to distance himself from the situation. And yet he doesn’t move, he stands looking at him, as Tucker wants nothing more than to fling himself at him.

“Please. Sit with me.” 

Wash stands for a while, looking like he wants to stay but also run away. Tucker looks at him trying to get him to stay, and he does. With his hesitation clear as day in his step he walks the distance and slowly lowers him to sit next to him underneath the stubborn tree that survived all the hardships the other buildings around it didn’t. Tucker relaxes and leans back against the tree trunk. 

It’s quiet for a while, both of them just staring at the horizon and the world that seems so small underneath them. The wind flows through and for a while it seems they are the only two people alive in this universe. Tucker feels at peace, like he’s reconnected to a piece of the puzzle he had been missing. Wash feels like an unwavering force beside him, like he’s an anchor that keeps him rooted to this place. 

“I’ve missed you.” He confesses and refuses to look at Wash. He feels him stiffen next to him, but he looks at the horizon bathing in the late afternoon sunlight. “I’m sorry-“

“I should be the one apologizing.” Wash answer cuts him off. He hears the pain he’s trying to mask but he knows him better than that. “I should’ve tried harder, I should’ve known that would happen that night in the infirmary. I should’ve-”

“Wash please.” He says unable to stop his eyeroll. He should’ve known Wash would be the one trying to apologize even though he didn’t have anything to apologize for. “You don’t have to apologize for anything. I’m just sorry things happened the way they did. I’m sad that this thing drove you away from me.”

“I just don’t want to hurt you.” Wash says looking at his own hands. Tucker looks at them too, seeing for the first time the new pinks scars on his hands. Burn marks he realizes.

“Oh god Wash.” He says pulling Wash hands into his own. He carefully caresses his hands and the new excessive scars that decorate them. Wash is warm against him, and he feels the electricity flow between them. He looks up from his hands to find Wash only a few inches away from him staring at him intently. He can’t put a finger on what his eyes are telling him, but he feels his breath leave him. Wash is so close to him he can see his lashes and all of his freckles and his breath against his skin. 

“I said I would get you out and I failed-“

Tucker silences him before he gets any further in this path of guilt. He presses his lips against his breathing in the smell of him and tastes him again after all this time. Wash’s surprise disappears quickly and he’s kissing him back like he would fall apart without him.

“Tucker.” Wash’s voice is breathless and filled with desperation and need. Tucker hears the toll this ordeal has had on Wash, his voice is soft and tentative, as if he’s not sure if this is real. Tucker on the other hand knows it’s real. He’s never been surer about anything in his life, no matter how long he would spend in that limbo or loop of endless universes, this feels right. No alien trickery could make him forget his Wash, the taste, the smell and the feel of his Wash. 

“Wash.”

He rests his forehead against Wash’s as they breathe. His heart feels lighter than it has felt in months and the ghosts inside him are quiet, the bullet in his chest still and his hands reach up to cup Wash’s face. 

“Please don’t leave me again.” Wash whispers with his eyes still closed, his pain visible and radiating through him. Tucker feels his heart sink as he presses soft kisses all over his face.

“Never.” He vows as he kisses him again. Wash is soft against him, his hands bringing him closer. The desperation in his kiss makes room for love and need. Tucker feels like he’s home at last, a sensation that he hadn’t know he missed. This is home, Wash is home. 

“I love you.” He whispers at Wash his eyes locked with him. He has no doubts, no hesitation. He knows.

“I love you too.” Wash answers him and kisses him again engulfing his universe until all that is left is Wash. There’s no roar, no light, no fear. His salty tears of relief run down his face. At that precise moment, he knows he will do everything in his power to not let anything happen to Wash and he feels the same radiating from Wash as well. For as long as he will live, nothing bad will ever happen to him. His heart sings and his mind rests as he knows he’s finally home.


	8. Epilogue

It's in the small moments that he surprises him the most. It's not the nightmares or the constant chest rubbing when he's nervous, it's the questions. 

The first had struck him down. No, he had answered, no he wouldn't kill him or do anything to harm him. Tucker hadn't expanded on that question and he was too afraid to pry. Tucker would talk to him when he felt like it. 

The second one had been asked in the dead of the night, when he was tangled up in his arms. No, he hadn't thought about being a teacher when he was young but he told Tucker about his mother who had taught in the outpost he had lived in when he was a child. Tucker seemed interested but didn't ask any questions, he just listened. Wash had to admit that it had been nice to talk about those forgotten years.

The third one was whispered in the meeting they were in. Kimball's and Carolina's argument was loud enough to cover them. No, he didn't think Kimball and Carolina were seeing each other, but he had to admit he looked at them closer ever since that day.

The heartbreaking part is that he knows why Tucker keeps asking these questions, why he keeps rubbing his chest muttering that there's nothing there. Truth be told, it's a bit too familiar to him. He can spot a person trying to glue his memories back together a mile away. He knows the confusion and the frustration and the endless doubt, and he knows there's not much he can do for Tucker. So he stays close, he answers the questions and tries his best to help him figure out a world so strange to him that should be familiar. 

Caboose helps, he notices a few weeks in. He notices how Tucker stands a bit closer to Caboose than usual, and listens to him. When he asks him about it Tucker has no clear answer to give him. But yet he understands. Caboose has that effect on people, that grounding energy that kept even him sane during his bad days. He has no trouble seeing how important these interactions with Caboose are. They spend a lot of time together after he realizes this.

The night is cold, and Tucker is sound asleep in his arms as Wash stares at the ceiling of his room. He’s glad Tucker’s sprawled across his chest, not only for the heat but also for the weight. He traces lazy patterns on his back as he listens to him breathe deep.

He should be asleep but sleep evaded him this night. Since he and Tucker reconciled underneath that old battle worn tree he hadn’t had problems sleeping. Neither of them had, even though Tucker had been struggling with some nightmares. They weren’t bad, Wash thinks as he remembers the times he had heard Tucker scream in his room. He felt disappointed in himself for not going to comfort him back then, instead letting his own hurt and fears come first. 

He has to admit it hadn’t been easy to get to this point. He recognizes the brokenness that now resided inside Tucker, the scars that an experience like this would leave behind it. He also knows that his role now is to support Tucker as much as he can no matter how hard it might be. 

It had been especially hard that night a few days ago when Tucker had told him about one of the loops he had been stuck in. He had never been so upset as he had been when he had heard Tucker recount the time that variation of Wash had killed him. There isn’t enough time to make something like that better again, and he can see the effects that experience is having on Tucker. Most nights it’s his name he’s mumbling or screaming. Nothing in this universe could make Wash forget those sounds. 

Despite all of this he knows he’s here to stay. No matter the hardships or the struggles he’s realized a long time ago that there isn’t anything in this world that will stand between them again. Those weeks of agony watching Tucker float right in front of him not breathing and yet being so utterly helpless had been the worst weeks of his life. He had never felt so helpless before and he never wants to be again. 

Tucker stirs above him and he reassures him that he’s safe and okay until he calms down again.

Home had long before lost meaning for him, the place he came from had been destroyed months after he left home, all the houses and people he knew and cared about had been lost that day. After the project when his new home had been revealed to be nothing more than a twisted lie he had lost hope for ever finding a place to call home. For a while he didn’t even care about that anymore. That was, until he met Tucker. He can’t say that their first months had been anything but rocky and difficult but as time went on he had realized two things. Firstly, that home didn’t have to be bound to a single location, that it could be a group of sim troopers as well. He also realized that no matter what happens, he would be content if the slightly arrogant yet capable man in teal armor would be alive and happy. Lying here in this cot that is too small for two with Tucker in his arms he realizes that he’s more than content. 

He’s finally at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I felt like this epilogue is so short that I didn't want to hang onto it until Thursday. 
> 
> So here we are, at the end of this short yet so packed adventure. I hope you guys enjoyed the story, I certainly loved writing it. It's a major step for me to finish a story, and writing it has been easier than ever before. And every week you guys have showed up, read, kudosed and left your comments. These have become the highlights of my week and I cannot emphasize the complete adoration I have towards everyone who gave this story a shot. I do recognize that there's areas that I need to improve on, but for now I'm just happy to have finished a story of this length. I hope to see you guys in my next story, a story that I've already begun outlining and will publish this year if the gods allow it. 
> 
> Love you all <3


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